


This is Our Story

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Omegaverse, One Shot, Parentlock, Smut, Songfic, Tumblr Prompt, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 38,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Sherlolly drabbles based on prompts submitted to me on Tumblr featuring a jealous Sherlock, baby's first crime scene, The Beatles, and so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> The following characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC. 
> 
> The following stories are based on tumblr prompts.
> 
> Prompt: A jealous Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up over the top of the newspaper in his hands. His eyes narrowed as the woman’s head tipped back in laughter, her hand reaching forward to rest on her companion’s arm. All his research had told him it was a flirtatious gesture for women to touch a man’s arm when he did or said something funny or endearing. Shaking the paper and clearing his throat, he dropped his eyes back down, not reading the words.

Really though, he had told Molly time and time again that dating would throw off the balance of the free world and frankly she didn’t have a very good track record. It had been a few months since her engagement to meat dagger had ended and frankly Sherlock was pleased with that. What he was not pleased with was her choice of lunch partner. Closing the paper, he set it on the table and pressed his fingertips together beneath his chin. He was a few years older than Molly, perhaps his late 30s, office worker judging by the way he was resting his wrists against the edge of the table and the line of pen ink on his left palm, he had one, no two, dogs at home, and recently divorced going off the slight but not completely gone tan line on his left ring finger.

With that information, Sherlock shouldn’t be concerned. Molly was a grown, generally capable woman. So why did he feel that overwhelming urge to march up to that table, slide in beside Molly wrapping his arm around her shoulders before pulling her in and proving to himself that her lips were not as small as they seemed? Shaking his head, Sherlock drew his mobile from his pocket and pulled up a message screen.

**I need you at Bart’s – SH**

A slight whooshing sound reached his ears as the message sent. He heard the tell tale beep moments later and watched with a sly grin as Molly apologized and dug out her mobile. Getting to his feet, Sherlock swiftly left the café and began walking back the short distance to Bart’s. His phone dinged and he pulled it out.

**No. –M**

That made Sherlock stop dead in his tracks. No? _No?_ Turning around, Sherlock returned to the café and marched right over to the table. “Molly, I need you at Bart’s,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes piercing into her companion.

“Sherlock! Wha-what are you doing here?” she hissed, shooting an apologetic look at the man.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he could now see the man better than he had before from across the café. “Sparing you from utter heartbreak. This man is a serial adulterer. I’ve seen it many times before.”

“Hey, now!” the man exclaimed, his eyes widening in panic.

“The clearly visible tan line on his left ring finger indicates a ring that has recently been removed. Perhaps he’s a divorcee, which is what I thought at first glance but then his right leg is bouncing under the table and he keeps glancing at his watch every few minutes, as if he knows he’s on a time constraint. Perhaps he has an appointment to make but that is unlikely coupled with the tan line. His wife is due home from a trip abroad very soon. How do I know that? He has the time and flight number written on the inside of his right hand. Now, if you know what’s best for you, I suggest you scuttle,” he rattled off quickly, daring the man to challenge him.

Sherlock felt great, the rush of an accurate deduction rippling through him, but as he saw Molly with her face buried in her hands, the tips of her ears bright, he felt a slight twinge of regret.

Smiling broadly as the man scrambled up, dropping a few notes on the table to at least have the decency to cover the tab, before hurrying out of the café, with Sherlock’s farewell followed him out, Sherlock slid into the seat the man just vacated.

“What the hell, Sherlock!” Molly hissed, removing her face from her hands. “What the hell was that!”

Sherlock’s grin slid from his face as he took in the angry woman across from him. Okay, so maybe he didn’t plan this out well. “I-well, I couldn’t just let my pathologist carry on with a man like that!”

Molly opened her mouth to retort but stopped. _His_ pathologist? “Are you…jealous?” she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand as she watched in rapid succession as the blood-drained form Sherlock’s face before returning quickly and his ears turned red.

“Jealous? I am not jealous, Doctor Hooper. Now I suggest you finish that coffee and meet me at the morgue in ten minutes. I’ve got things I need to do today,” he replied stiffly, getting up and sweeping out of the café. Shoving his hands into his pockets Sherlock stalked back to Bart’s wondering if perhaps jealousy was another one of those emotion things he needed to be rid of.


	2. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from cumberbabeusa: Lestrade calls Sherlock to a crime scene, and Sherlock arrives with his baby daughter strapped to his chest in one of those baby carrier things, chubby little legs dangling. Everyone is shocked that Sherlock would bring his baby, but Sherlock carries on as if nothing is amiss, being his usual brilliant self. Perhaps he is waving the baby’s pacifier around (or something). John/Lestrade/Donovan expects Molly would be outraged by the fact that Sherlock is bringing their baby to a crime scene, but she thinks it is perfectly fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC. I'm merely borrowing them for my own entertainment.

As a golden rule of crime solving, Sherlock had always said he would never leave the house for anything less than a six. After Abigail was born, he raised it up to an eight. But when Lestrade called him informing him of a double homicide that was likely only a four or five, Sherlock couldn’t resist. Molly was at work, Mrs. Hudson was busy with her gentleman caller who Sherlock shockingly approved of, and John was likely at the surgery or with his own child. Sherlock looked down to the floor where Abigail was playing contentedly with some blocks. Grabbing the baby sling that had been left on a table by the door, Sherlock stared confusedly at the contraption for a moment before figuring out how to put it on.

He scooped up Abigail, giving her downy dark brown hair a light fixing before carefully positioning her just so in the carrier. Grabbing his coat and Abigail’s bag, he ran out the door, one hand positioned carefully on Abigail so she didn’t get jostled. Flagging down a cab, he gave the directions and settled back. It was high time his daughter got to see what Daddy did for work. He drew out his mobile and quickly texted John to see if he could meet him at the scene.

Paying the cabbie as he stopped at the end of the road, Sherlock climbed out smiling slightly as Abigail babbled on and on from her position against his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” came the snide voice as he lifted the yellow police tape and carefully ducked beneath it. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock turned and smiled at Sally Donovan.

“Lestrade called me and here I am,” he said arms out to the side mockingly. Abigail chose that exact moment to blow a raspberry before letting out a high-pitched squeal. “Now if you excuse me, Sally, I have some bodies to look at.” Sidestepping around her before she could get a word in edgewise he began stalking over toward Lestrade. “Freak brought his kid with him,” he heard Sally say into the radio from behind him.

Reaching into the bag, he pulled out Abigail’s pacifier and stuck it in her mouth. Daddy did need to think after all and another high-pitched squeal would not help matters. “Sherlock what do you think you’re doing? You can’t take a baby to a crime scene!” Lestrade called, stopping the taller man before he went any further.

“Oh do relax, Grant, this is an open and shut case. It’d be like I wasn’t here,” Sherlock smiled, clapping Lestrade on the shoulder.

“It’s Greg you prat!”

Waving a hand over his shoulder, Sherlock looked up to spot John rushing toward him from the police tape. “Christ, Sherlock. You just had to bring her didn’t you? What will Molly say!”

Sherlock just ignored John and the looks he kept shooting Lestrade before squatting down to look at the bodies, drawing his mobile from his pocket. “How long have they been here?” he asked as his eyes combed over the female victim before looking at the male less than ten feet away.

“Been dead, less than twelve hours,” came John’s voice from over near the male body. Sherlock cringed when he saw the pink pacifier suddenly drop down in front of him and right next to the blood pool from the female victim and he quickly tucked his mobile away. Picking it up, he kept it tight in his hand. “Like I told you, cut and dry. These two aren’t married, yet she was wearing a ring, likely an engagement ring but it’s not on her finger so where is it? There is a ring clutched into his left fist, but it’s his non-dominant hand judging by the callus that has formed on his right middle finger from holding a pen,” he began, waving the hand holding the pacifier around to point out the evidence. Stepping around the woman, he approached the dead man and pulled out his small magnifying glass, carefully inspecting the man’s hand and wrist. “See Abby, see those little black flecks? That’s gunpowder residue, which means he shot a gun recently,” Sherlock said in an undertone. Abigail had to learn something while she was there.

“There is gun powder residue on his hand and sweatshirt sleeve suggesting he recently fired a gun. That gun in fact,” he added, pointing toward a dumpster where the firearm had just stopped short of skidding under. So why were an engaged couple out this far? She had been cheating and he followed her toward her lover’s flat, which I’m guessing is somewhere up ahead. He pulled her into the alley, they got into a fight, she threw the ring at him promptly ending their relationship at which point he drew the gun and shot her. Overcome with grief, stupidly really as he had just killed his ex-fiancée, he took his own life. Murder-Suicide, Lestrade,” Sherlock finished with a flourish before looking down at Abigail as she kicked her chubby little legs against his hips. She let out another squeal of delight at which Sherlock smiled.

“Right. Okay,” Lestrade said sounding a bit disappointed. “Fact remains, you can’t bring your daughter to a bloody crime scene! What would Molly think of this?” he added, calling after Sherlock as the man packed up his magnifying glass and placed the pacifier in a little bag. Drawing out his mobile, Sherlock quickly snapped a picture. “Irrelevant!” Sherlock called back as he walked off to find a cab, John jogging along behind to catch up.

\--

Signing off on her last case of the day, Molly Holmes sat up and stretched the kinks out of her back. She was tired, Abigail had been up more so than she usually had been and while Sherlock had been a wonderful father and had helped out, Molly was too lazy to make a bottle for the little girl so she just breastfed her. Molly wouldn’t trade the last few years for the world. Snapping out of her thoughts as the chime on her phone went off, she smiled when she saw a text from Sherlock. Sliding her finger across the screen and pulling up the message, Molly’s smile widened and a laugh escaped her as she looked at a picture of Sherlock with Abigail in her sling crouched down beside a dead woman with what looked like a dead man in the background. The caption read, _Abby’s First Crime Scene_.


	3. Hello Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can you please write a fanficiton to a song prompt to the song Hello Goodbye by The Beatles for Sherlolly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC. In addition, the song "Hello Goodbye" is not mine either...that belongs to The Beatles.

_\--_

_You say yes, I say no_

_You say stop and I say go go go, oh no_

_You say goodbye and I say hello_

_\--_

Sherlock didn’t know what had gotten into him. Peering over the top of the microscope in the lab at St. Bart’s, his sharp eyes followed her every movement like a cat stalking its prey. The mouse to his cat, he never before had watched her so closely. She wasn’t like The Woman or Janine who had flaunted their womanliness at him, hadn’t tried to overly impress him by the way she dressed, or didn’t dress as was the case with The Woman. There was that Christmas but he preferred not to think about what an arse he had been then.

He looked down quickly as she turned back toward him and pretended to change the fine adjustment. He didn’t want to be that guy who was caught watching her. Things had been different between them since he had returned to the land of the living. The proverbial elephant in the room resting on her third finger as it were was proof enough that things ha changed. It was funny how things changed in a few short years. He had always known what she was insinuating whenever she asked him for coffee, he wasn’t stupid, but he had always turned her down, pretending to not understand the social necessities that came with attraction. Sentiment was, after all, a chemical defect found on the losing side.

But wasn’t he feeling sentiment now? Is that what this rejection was a result of? She had moved on, saying goodbye to the life of pining after a man who could never love her back, just when he came to realize that perhaps he could.

\--

_I say high, you say low_

_You say why and I say I don’t know, oh no_

_You say goodbye and I say hello (_

_Hello goodbye hello goodbye) hello hello_

_(Hello goodbye) I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

_\--_

“Clean?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and tucked his chin to his chest. The clear disdain in her voice was enough to make even him cringe. But he held on, raising his head to look at the small woman. The slap, though he should have seen it coming, shocked him. So Molly Hooper had an arm on her then. He made a mental note of it. He turned his face back toward her, letting her anger and disappointment wash over him. He deserved it. Two more slaps swiftly followed.

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? How dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry.”

Sherlock rubbed at his aching jaw. He hated himself for what he was about to do but it was his only line of defense in a situation like this, no matter how delighted he felt deep inside.

“Sorry your engagement’s over though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.”

“Stop it. Just, stop it.”

He could pretend it didn’t hurt him to hurt her, to hear her voice shake underneath all that anger and bravado from moments before. How could they all not realize he was being honest when he said it was for a case? But he was at a low. He was tired of putting up the façade of dating Janine, however necessary it was. And yes, perhaps actually doing the drugs while undercover was a bit much but if Sherlock were honest with himself, it felt good again.

It had nothing to do with John being married and expecting his first child, nothing at all. Watching Molly carefully out of the corner of his eye, he realized it was her. It was always Molly. Although now that she was single again, only a few weeks by the looks of it, shortly after John’s wedding and the infamous meat dagger incident, things could look up. Eyes rising to her as his phone alerted him to a text he threw himself into the case. Perhaps, when things were on a better even footing and he knew she wouldn’t toss him out again, he would explore this revelation.

\--

_Why why why why why why do you say goodbye goodbye, oh no?_

_You say goodbye and I say hello_

_Hello hello_

_I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

_Hello hello_

_I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

\--

“…Until you figure out what you want, Sherlock!” The door to 221B slammed shut behind her. Sherlock stared at the door for a moment, his fingers wrapped around his violin and bow. What had just happened? Standing in the window, he parted the curtain and watched as Molly stalked onto the pavement and began walking in the direction of her own flat. Tucking the instrument beneath his chin, he raised the bow and began to play.

The music reflected the confusion Sherlock felt. He was just playing, nothing solid, nothing tangible, but the feelings he felt that were new and dare he say toxic. Sherlock didn’t like feelings. They were too messy, too confusing, and generally led to someone getting hurt. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made Molly leave or if it was a culmination of months of things. He did care for her, even if he had strange ways of showing it sometimes. He had taken a giant leap when he had finally divested his feelings to her and while they hadn’t been together very long, shortly after the whole non-exile Moriarty business had been finished, Sherlock had allowed himself to feel more than he had in at least twenty years.

Sherlock suddenly stopped playing. That was it wasn’t it? He had stopped allowing himself to feel once he and Molly decided to give it a go. Molly Hooper, ever the one to need reassurance that he did care for her, had been without. Setting his violin in his chair, he grabbing his coat and scarf and hurried out after her. If he timed everything right and took a couple shortcuts, he would arrive at her flat just as she did.

Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, keeping his head down. It was surprisingly easy to blend in when people expected him to emerge wearing that ridiculous hat. Stopping short as he passed a small flower stand, he picked out a blend of her favorite flowers with a small bundle of red roses in the center before continuing on. He ducked down an alley that would bring him closer to her flat.

He stopped short as he saw her climbing the steps to let herself in. “Molly!” he called out, jogging the last few steps.

\--

_You say yes (I say yes) I say no (But I may mean no)_

_You say stop (I can stay) and I say go go go (Till it's time to go), oh_

_Oh no You say goodbye and I say hello_

_Hello hello_

_I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

_Hello hello I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

_Hello hello I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello hello_

\--

Sherlock watched as Molly turned toward the sound of her name. Her eyes were red and her cheeks shining. A lump formed in his chest, one that nearly strangled all air from his lungs. “What do you want?” she spoke dully, her eyes flickering between his face and the flowers in his hand.

“For you…” he choked out, thrusting out the bouquet. Their fingers brushed as she reached out and took it from him.

“Is that all?”

Sherlock shook his head and stepped toward her. “I know I’ve shut you out lately. I know I’m a rude arsehole who can’t be bothered with the common courtesies involved in a relationship. I know that you need more from me; more openness, more understanding, and I know…” he trailed off, stepping up to the step she was standing on, and held her gaze. He took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek before clenching into a fist and dropping back to his side. “I know that I can never really truly give you those things. But I am willing to work at it. If you’re willing to have me. As long as you’re willing to have me…” he finished.

Molly looked up at him, her face impassive. She lowered the flowers to her side and stepped toward him. She raised her hand and ran her fingers across his forehead, smoothing the worry lines that seemed permanently etched into his skin. Her fingers graced his hairline and settling against his cheeks, her thumb running over the sharp planes of his cheekbones. Sherlock could feel her pulse through her fingertips and he let out a shaky breath. He let down the walls part way, allowed himself to feel every emotion that had been repressed. She rose up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his carefully sculpted ones before drawing back.

“Yes,” she murmured and Sherlock felt a rush of air leave his lungs. He knew he was a horrible person and had no idea why someone like Molly would put up with him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Yes…” he murmured as he captured her lips with more vigor. When air became a necessity, he drew back and placed his forehead against hers. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say since I got back from playing dead,” he began, pulling away to look at her face.

Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Oh?”

“Hello, Molly Hooper.”


	4. After the Storm is the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from britishmenarehot: Sherlock comforting Molly after her engagement ends.
> 
> Set after The Sign of Three and discounts the events at the beginning of His Last Vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the character don't belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC.

John and Mary’s wedding had been an eye-opener. That wasn’t to say her eyes hadn’t been opened before but the wedding had given her a tangible glimpse into what she could expect. Molly could forgive the meat dagger incident, but the moment Tom had brought up Sherlock, Molly couldn’t take it and stabbed him with a plastic fork. Their engagement had lasted only a couple more weeks after that.

While Tom ending things didn’t devastate her, it had been Tom although she would argue the feeling was mutual; she was disheartened at yet another relationship gone because of Sherlock bloody Holmes.

She was more upset over losing the idea of a happy marriage to a normal person than she was over losing the person. Sitting in her office with the door closed, Molly stared at the framed picture of her and Tom taken a few months prior. Her ring finger felt empty and heavy without that ring on it.

The door to her office swung open and Molly hastily wiped at the wetness forming. “Molly,” came the deep baritone that both haunted her and intrigued her.

“What, Sherlock? What can I get you?” she sniffed, wiping away another tear.

Sherlock hesitated, his hand wrapped around the door. “I-” he paused before entering her office and shutting the door behind him. He sat down on the edge of the desk. He took in everything around her. Her eyes were red and bright, clearly she had been crying or was trying not to cry, likely the latter. She had a picture of herself and meat dagger on her desk but it looked like it hadn’t been moved in some time. His eyes fell upon her left hand and he felt an odd combination of something he couldn’t quite name. “Are you okay?” he asked instead, not wanting to deduce what had occurred out loud. Clearly her engagement was over but even he couldn’t deduce exactly who ended it.

Molly looked at him surprised. “What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Really, Molly? I asked, if you were okay.”

“I-no. I’m not. Tom ended our engagement,” she replied, shifting her gaze to her left hand where her right had intended to play with the ring that had once rest there.

Sherlock remained silent, waiting for her to go on like he knew she would. “It was after John and Mary’s wedding, a week or two really. It just…wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to him and he knew it.”

Sherlock reached out and hesitated before resting his hand on hers. “I am sorry, Molly Hooper,” he said, even though for some strange reason his heart was beating rapidly. “I meant what I said before, you deserve to be happy and I could tell you weren’t happy with Tom, but strangely, I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” he added honestly, looking at her. She really was beautiful in a simple kind of way, but she was his pathologist, his Molly. _No, not his_ , he told himself sternly.

Molly stared at Sherlock in disbelief. “Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?” she laughed weakly.

A low laugh rumbled through his chest. “Just trying it out,” he shrugged, giving her hand a squeeze. “But truly though, you deserve to be happy.”

Molly just watched him carefully before turning her hand over and shifting to link her fingers with his. She could feel him tense a bit, his knees stiffening on the edge of her desk near hers. Her eyes shot to his. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he just stared at Molly, not sure what to do. Was it suddenly hot in the morgue?

Taking a deep breath all of a sudden, Sherlock blinked and snapped out of it. “Okay?” Molly asked him.

“Are you?” he returned, his eyes finding hers although she watched a bit amused as they kept falling to their clasped hands.

“I think I will be,” she smiled.

Eyes widening as he slipped off the desk, he pulled her to her feet. He leaned in and she felt his lips against her cheek but just at the edge of her lips. She gasped slightly, closed her eyes, and tightened her grip on his hand. He pulled away, withdrawing his hand from hers. The rush of cold air hitting her hand made something snap within her. She reached up, brushing her hand against his cheek. Molly hesitated, her eyes fixed on his impossible orbs, making her intention clear. She tilted her head back before rising up on tiptoe and lightly pressed her lips to his.

She heard his intake of breath, the stiffness of his body that settled for a moment before he relaxed and his arms wound around her waist, pulling her close. Settling into his embrace, Molly was certain that she would be just fine. After all, who would dare go toe to toe with the world’s only consulting detective?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly fond of my writing in this one but please please let me know what you think!


	5. Spring Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble based on a tumblr post regarding a blue floral shirt Molly wears frequently in Series 3. So someone proposed that since Molly was wearing it when she slaps him in his mind palace, perhaps Sherlock subconsciously likes this shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC.

\--

_This story is based on[this tumblr post](http://benedicted-cumberbatched.tumblr.com/post/78249876885/kenndaljustfreaking-why-didnt-i-notice-that)_

\--

Sherlock had never been able to figure out exactly why his mind palace chose specific memories to hold on to. Of course, he was consciously aware that the facts and statistics he held most dear were placed there himself but to truly analyze what made his mind palace truly tick was another thing entirely.

He had been stuck in his mind palace for hours now, Molly noted as she stepped into the lab yet again to see if he needed anything. He just sat there, eyes closed but looking like he was in a REM cycle as his eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids. Biting her lip knowing he didn't like being disturbed, Molly carefully approached and set the cup of coffee, black two sugars as usual, down beside the microscope. Hopefully he would break out of it soon enough before the coffee grew cold. She turned and picked up a clipboard of tests that needed running, before getting to work.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and a wicked grin spread across his face as he realized that the shopkeeper had hired someone to kill his neighboring rival and made it look like an accident. There was always something that a criminal slipped up on. Sherlock reached in his pocket and quickly texted Lestrade, telling him to look into the shopkeepers phone records and find a number that had been frequented. Reaching for his little notebooks of things he occasionally saw the need to jot down, his hand knocked over the lukewarm cup of coffee. He swore lightly under his breath before jumping back away from the table.

"When did that get here?" he asked out loud, looking around before his eyes came to rest on Molly. He quickly deduced what had happened.

"About fifteen minutes ago?" she guessed, looking at the clock on the wall. She pushed away from the table and grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. "Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up."

Sherlock swallowed, as she got closer and bent down to begin cleaning the coffee on the floor. His eyes watched her carefully, noting the blue flower-patterned collar of her shirt peeking above the white of her lab coat. It was well worn, clearly a favorite of hers, but the colors were still bright so it was fairly new. Stepping around the table, Sherlock also grabbed some towels and got to work. "New shirt?" he commented, his eyes finding it again.

"Hmm? Oh, this thing? Sort of. Why?" she asked as she sat back on her heels and watched Sherlock move the stool he had been sitting on aside to get the coffee that had splattered.

Sherlock shook his head. "It, um, suits you."

Molly smiled to herself. "Thank you."

Sherlock looked back to her and tried to remember why that shirt was so interesting to him. It was just a stupid blue with blue flowers patterned shirt. There was nothing special about it. Getting to his feet, he held out his hand with a raised eyebrow. "Oh." Molly grabbed his hand and pulled herself to her feet. "Thank you, Sherlock." She took the towels from him and turned away. As she moved to the other side of the room again, Sherlock returned to his seat, pressed his hands together beneath his chin and closed his eyes, drawing forth the images in rapid succession of seeing Molly again for the first time in two years and the Molly who saved his life. A small smile tugged at the corners of his Cupid’s bow lips as he recalled what his mind palace had dressed the pathologist in.


	6. Change of Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble based on a gifset on tumblr in which katemill99 wanted a story written. The prompt was Sherlock and Molly get married, but I took it more from the engagement standpoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the characters do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, and the BBC. I'm merely borrowing them for my own amusement.

\---

[Story based on this gifset](http://benedicted-cumberbatched.tumblr.com/post/78798257797/katemill99-sherlolly-ship-au-sherlock-and)

\---

Sherlock had had it all planned out. Every last detail. But the moment he stood before her in the sitting room of 221 B that day every bit of his plan faded from his brain. There were many things he loved about Molly Hooper. Her eclectic style of clothing, he would work with her on that though - there were some things that shouldn't see the light of day, the way she sang in the shower, her delicate hands as they sliced open the next person that lay across her table, the way she helped him with experiments with an enthusiasm and fervor he hadn't seen since showing Archie those pictures of the maggots.

He could see John giving him a strange look out of the corner of his eye and Sherlock continued to ignore him. There were some things that were better left as surprises. Molly was beautiful as the large glass window, the muted sunlight filtering through the clouds giving her an almost ethereal glow, framed her. "Molly..." he said tentatively, stepping around his chair as he approached her. His hand tightened in the pocket of his coat around the hard box.

He took a deep breath. "Molly Hooper..." he exhaled sharply, withdrawing the box from his pocket, opening it and holding it before him. He wouldn't get down on one knee, nor did he hope she expected him to. Sure it was tradition but since when had they been? "Will you marry me?" It was simple, not like the long-winded speech he had prepared and promptly forgotten. All that mattered was her, and the work, but her mostly.

He could see John in his peripheral, his eyes wide and shocked at what was unfolding before him. But Sherlock's sharp eyes were only focused on Molly. She was shocked, thoroughly shocked. She stood rooted to her spot by the window for a moment before rushing toward him. Her lips crashed against his. The ring box fell from his hand as he held the side of her head, throwing every ounce of what he felt for her from his lips to hers. She pulled back, her hands lightly teasing the curls by his ears. "Yes, yes, yes! I thought you'd never ask."

Smiling broadly, he regrettably released her, picked up the ring box, tugged the ring from the velvet pad, and slipped it with shaking fingers onto her finger. He pulled her in again, laying a light kiss to her never too small lips. He knew full well what those lips were capable of and mentally slapped himself daily for ever thinking they were too small.

\---

John had left shortly after, pulling them both in for a hug that was filled with congratulations and that he'd better be Sherlock's best man. Molly pulled herself from Sherlock's embrace as they sat curled together in his chair. She stretched the kinks out of her back and looked down at her fiancée. She still couldn't believe it. "I should head home. Got some phone calls and emails to send out. As well as feed Toby," she said pulling on her coat.

"You could always stay. I don't see why we still have to live apart when you're here or I'm there a majority of the time," Sherlock added, getting to his feet but knowing full well that starting up another argument of her moving in wasn't the right thing to do.

Molly bit her lip. "I'll pack up tomorrow and move in."

Sherlock grinned before kissing her swiftly, his arms tightening around her waist. "Really? You really mean it?"

"Of course. Now let me go home so I can pack," she laughed, pulling herself from his arms.

"I love you!" she called out as she hurried down stairs.

Sherlock watched from the window as she rushed out onto the street. She looked around her for a moment before throwing her arms out to the sides and spun around a couple times, her head thrown back with a smile.

"I love you too, Molly Hooper."


	7. Just Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "if you buy me cute underwear I'll model it for you" Sherlock goes shopping for Molly to receive his just desserts.
> 
> Prompt issued by notyourblogkeeper on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the characters mentioned do not belong to me.

_"If you buy me cute underwear I’ll model it for you…"_

Sherlock was completely out of his depth. Of course he knew her size, he knew what she liked, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping lightly at the back. What was cute exactly about underwear? He liked seeing Molly stripped down to her undergarments but seeing all sorts of colors and styles and _lace_ was making his head spin.

But buy her cute underwear he did. Two days ago.

"Molly?" he called out as he returned to 221B after wrapping up an easy case with Scotland Yard. Sometimes he seriously wondered whether Graham, no that wasn’t right, Greg, that was it, just threw these easy cases at him because he wanted to see him, make sure he hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed.

Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf about to call her name again before he turned around and froze. Molly stood before him. His lips parted as a small gasp escaped them. His eyes wide and startled slightly as he took her in. Her hair was down, just how he liked it, curling slightly towards the ends. His eyes skated down her body, admiring the way her breasts were lifted slightly in the new bra he had bought her. How had he ever thought they were too small?

He smiled slightly as he skated over her stomach, a fleeting image of it swollen and his hand pressed against it, a slight fluttering against his palm, entered his mind and he had no idea where it came from. He blushed slightly, clearing his throat as his eyes skimmed over the edge of the pants he had bought. He quite liked the bright red and the purple lace against her pale skin.

He stepped toward her, his hand reaching out and pulled her to him. “Like what you see?” she said innocently, her lips twitching as she tried to keep from smiling.

Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. His fingers trailed along the waistband of her pants. He pulled her closer, one hand caressing her cheek. He pulled back slightly, his forehead pressed to hers. Smirking slightly as he looked down at her, he lowered his hand to her waist and lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he started walking toward his bedroom. As much as he liked her new undergarments on her, he would much rather seem them on his floor. “Does that answer your question?” his voice husky as he used his foot to kick the door shut behind them. Her giggle answered him.


	8. All the Comforts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly likes to steal Sherlock’s clothes when he’s out on a case and he finds her curled up on the couch or in his bed wearing one of his shirts and wrapped up in one of his dressing gowns. Based on a headcanon of mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the characters don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for my own amusement.

Illustration by [bekahhasacamera](http://bekahhasacamera.tumblr.com/). 

\---

Sherlock had been working non-stop on a case and hadn’t had a moment to sit down other than in the backseat of a cab for the past thirty-six hours. While he had in the past could have gone longer without sleep or food, he had recently found a reason to return home to. There was usually something waiting for him on the counter wrapped in tin foil with a little note welcoming him home. Otherwise he would pick up some take away and eat that while he stood in the kitchen before showering and flopping into bed.

However this night, after eating the piece of lasagna and showering, he stood, the towel wrapped around his waist as water dripped from his hair down his slightly scarred back, staring at the curled figure in his bed. He didn’t understand why she took his clothes. But as Sherlock leaned against the doorway, a small smile tugged at his lips. Her long hair was strewn across his pillow, the collar of his purple shirt was turned up against her cheek, and she was curled in on herself, clutching his red dressing gown around her, much too large for her, as if it were her blanket. She looked so comfortable that he didn’t want to disturb her.

Sherlock quietly crossed into the room before digging out a pair of pants and pulling them on quickly. He pulled back the blankets on the side of the bed carefully before climbing in. In her sleep, she rolled over, the dressing gown slipping slightly to reveal that she wasn’t wearing anything other than her pants and his shirt and dressing gown. Sherlock smirked as he tugged the blankets out from under her and threw them over them both. She curled against him, sighing as she settled out again. Sherlock tilted his head down slightly and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight Molly,” he said quietly, resting his head against hers, an arm draped over her waist before closing his eyes and letting sleep overcome him.


	9. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request: someone saves Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, no one belongs to me. Sadly. 
> 
> \--
> 
> This fic was a request by thestormweaver on tumblr.

There had been times he had gotten himself way in over his head before. But he had always ended up getting himself out of it before he got in too deep. Or so he had told himself. He tried not to think about the third time being the charm in the rehab stints he did. He still hated Mycroft for forcing him in the first two times. The third time had mostly been of his own accord. More like Lestrade’s ultimatum but he tried not to think of that. It was much more rewarding to say he did it himself than to have the DI tell him no more crime scenes until he cleaned up. The nerve of some people.

Then, of course, there was the relapse, years of sobriety thrown down the drain, or pumped into his veins, however you wanted to look at it. It was for a case, he had said. He was undercover, he had claimed. Of course, it was partially true. Mostly true. As much as he loved John, he had claimed as much at the wedding, him slipping back into his old ways was not a cry for attention from his best friend. It was for a case, how else did someone supposedly famous attract the attention of a newspaper mogul? It was also to rid himself of Janine’s incessant attempts to arouse a response out of him.

He could remember the feel of her lips on his, how wrong it felt. She felt wrong to him. But again, she was necessary for a case.

The slaps he had received instead, those were needed. They were necessary. They cleared his brain more than the heroin that was still in his system had ever done. The hurtful words had spilled from his mouth before he had even had the chance to stem them. But his heart had swelled with pride as she stood up for herself.

A few years later, as he stood before his few friends and his family and said those two words, a small, slightly nervous smile on his face as he slid the white gold ring home on her finger, he knew he had been right in enjoying, to a point, the slaps he had received.

Things had been great between them, until the test results had come back. He had sat very still as the doctor had gone over the results with them. Her hand had gripped at his tightly, he couldn’t look at her. It was all his fault.

There were other ways of course, expensive ways, but other ways. They had options. But it still took away from being able to do it themselves.

His head rocked back against the dirty wall. It was all his fault. He had done this to them. His eyes dropped to the bottle in his hand. It had been so easy to get. They already knew him. But he didn’t go back to the same place John had found him in. That would be too obvious and he needed space. The tension in their flat had reached a peak and he needed to escape before he said something he would regret. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to do something to forget. He would regret it later. He knew that. But he needed to forget, just for a little while, that it was all his fault. He knew what had caused it. The proof was sitting in his hand.

Uncapping the bottle, he poured a small amount into the spoon. Just this once. One last time, then he was truly done with it. He threw the bottle aside, listening as it clattered over broken glass, the crumbling plaster, and splinters of wood. He pulled a lighter from his coat pocket and flicked it a couple times before the tiny orange flame appeared. He watched blankly as the substance became a liquid. He filled the syringe as carefully as possible before reaching for the long elastic he had shoved in his pocket. Using his teeth to hold it while he tied it off, he didn’t even hear the door bang open.

His hand hovered for a moment over the needle before picking it up. As soon as it was in his hand, it was gone and he looked up wildly.

“Don’t you dare, Sherlock Holmes.” Her voice was stern and her eyes flashed with anger at what he had been about to do. But he could see the concern and the fear and the heartache lingering in the chocolate depths.

“It’s all my fault. All my fault…all my fault…” he muttered, his eyes skittering over the figure Lestrade who was picking up and disposing of Sherlock’s items.

Her fingers untied the elastic around his arm and rubbed the spot to get the blood flowing again. “It’s not your fault. Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. “My fault…” he muttered, flinching as he felt her fingers grace his cheek.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you look at me this instant,” she said forcefully but gently.

Sherlock turned his head and opened his eyes. There was the woman he loved and married. “This is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. We will find another way. You think this is the story we want to tell our children some day? That their dad came here in a moment of weakness? I don’t think so, Sherlock.”

He slowly nodded his head, even though his brain continued to tell him it was his fault. He had injected those horrible drugs all those years ago and as a result, he couldn’t give his wife the one thing she wanted. He wrapped his arms slowly around her and buried his head against her flat stomach, wishing that at this point it were swollen with life.

—-

Molly tangled her fingers in Sherlock’s hair as he curled against her stomach. She had blamed him at first, albeit silently. But if she knew her husband, which she did, she knew he had noticed. He blamed himself. His drug use had made things difficult for them. The doctor hadn’t verified that that was why, but it was what Sherlock believed. But why he had decided to come here and attempt to use again made her heart ache. She bent over him and pressed her lips to his head. “Let’s go home.”

—-

**Two Years Later**

Sherlock stood over the crib staring down at the dark hair of his daughter. He didn’t believe in miracles, but Abigail was the closest thing to one that he had. The fact that a few short months after Molly had pulled him from the brink, she had ended up pregnant was something he couldn’t explain. The doctors all said they had just gotten lucky.

The one and a half year old was energetic, curious, and a complete Daddy’s girl. Sherlock had once been concerned that fatherhood wouldn’t suit him, something he had comes to terms with in the months between his near relapse and Molly getting pregnant. But he would completely admit that he had been wrong. Abigail had Sherlock wrapped around her little finger and knew how to get her way because Sherlock couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, say no to her.

Molly had reprimanded him of course; telling him the girl needed structure. He argued structure could wait another year or two and to let her have her fun. He felt arms wrap around his waist and he covered the hands with his own.

“Come back to bed, darling,” Molly said against his back.

Sherlock closed his eyes and turned around, her protruding stomach pressed against his. “How are you feeling?” he asked. He had been happy with just Abigail and had never expected that she would get pregnant again. The doctors still couldn’t quite explain it, but they had verified that his past drug use had no impact on why they hadn’t been able to conceive during the first year or two of their marriage. Doctors were sure that it was on Sherlock’s end though. Nevertheless, they had continued to try and not try while researching other options.

“He’s active tonight. But I feel fine,” she said smiling as his hands slid over her stomach.

“Back to bed with you, Mrs. Holmes,” he admonished lightly, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He swatted lightly at her rear as she turned away and back toward their room. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she let out a small squeal of surprise.

“Sherlock Holmes!” she hissed, although her eyes showed her laughter. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. “To bed with you as well, Mr. Holmes.”

“One minute, I swear.”

She smiled before retreating back to their bedroom. Sherlock smiled after her before turning back to the sleeping Abigail. He brushed a hand over her dark curls before bending over and kissing her tiny forehead. “Sleep well, my miracle.”

Straightening, Sherlock turned and crossed back to his room. Tossing his robe off to the side, Sherlock slid under the covers and wrapped his arms around his wife. He kissed her cheek and shoulder before settling down. “Thank you for saving me,” he murmured before closing his eyes. He didn’t see the smile that spread across her lips.


	10. Bespectacled Spectacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a post on tumblr. Molly's ID badge shows her wearing huge glasses but she is never seen wearing them. One day, Sherlock notices she's wearing them and makes a comment regarding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, no one belongs to me.

The door to the lab swung open. Molly was used to this as it was a very common occurrence. She didn’t look up from the test she was running as she said in her usual cheerful manner, “Hello, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked over at her and stopped. Something was very different about his pathologist. He had noticed over time of course that she had taken to parting her hair to the side when she didn’t wear it in the usual long pony tail, and her lips, while no longer an alarming shade of red, shone with the light lip gloss she wore. However, it wasn’t he usual things he complimented her on that were different. It was the large glasses sitting her on face that caught his eye. Frowning slightly, he crossed over, dragged a stool around and sat down in front of her, his hands folded neatly beneath his chin as he surveyed her face.

"What can I help you with, Sherlock?" she asked, jotting down a result in her report before looking up at him. 

Sherlock’s hand reached out and swiftly removed the glasses from her face. 

"What are you doing?" she protested, reaching out to grab them from him but using one of his large hands he held her hand to the table. He slipped them on and blinked startled slightly. 

"You have horrible eyesight, Molly," he remarked before taking the glasses off and lifting his hand from hers. She snatched the glasses back from his hand and shoved them on her face. 

"You never wear glasses. I know your ID badge shows you wearing them but I thought that picture was taken when you first started here."

"Yes, well, I ran out of contacts the other day and haven’t had a chance to refill my prescription."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment longer before looking around the lab. “Right, well, got experiments to do if you’ve got anything for me to use,” he swept off the stool, his coat flapping slightly behind him as he shoved the stool back to where it was. 

"There’s some skin samples over there."

Sherlock sauntered over and rummaged through before finding a sample that struck his interest. He set up in silence. Molly stood up from her station, packed up the chart, and started to leave when Sherlock’s voice calling her name had her stop, her hand on the door handle. 

She turned to face him, wondering what he could possibly need now. Probably coffee. “The…uh…the glasses suit you. I mean it. I’m not just saying that. They look really nice, make your eyes bigger. In a good way,” he stammered, trying to reign in his thoughts. Truth be told, he really did like the glasses on her and he hoped she would wear them more often. 

Molly hesitated, gauging the sincerity in his eyes for a moment, before nodding. She waited until she was outside the lab before smiling to herself. It was progress.


	11. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr fic request from bekahhasacamera: Molly is living with Sherlock. She's at work. Irene comes back to London, and drops by Baker Street. She's being her sexy self, and is getting all up in Sherlock's business! And then, with Irene being all up close and personal with Sherlock, Molly walks in the door and sees Irene all over her man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me. Sadly.

Sherlock threw his coat over the back of what was once, and still to a point was, John’s chair, even though Molly seemed to take up residence in it quite frequently, as he returned from informing Lestrade of a crack in a case. He had dropped by Bart’s quickly to see Molly, but left leaving her with a peck on the cheek and a promise of some Thai takeaway. While he still was getting used to the whole idea of a relationship, a word that once made his stomach recoil and his face twist as if he had smelled something putrid, he quite liked having Molly around. He would find himself able to focus better as he lay on the couch at night, his head resting in her lap, her fingers carding through his hair. He had made countless breaks in cases just by lying there for however long he needed.

What he didn’t anticipate however, was hearing that text alert again. The intimate sound of a woman’s sensual sigh filled the flat. He froze for a moment, before crossing to the bookshelf and pulling down the battered wood box. He pulled out the mobile and pressed the center button. The phone hadn’t made a sound in years so why now.

As the screen lit up, he wondered why the thing was even still working. Surely it should have died by now. Turning it back over, eyes scanning over every surface, he spotted a fleck of red paint in the edge where the battery was housed. Shaking his head, he turned it around again and pulled up the text.

**Dinner?**

“I would have thought it obvious, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock spun around, the phone clenched tight in his hand. “What are you doing here, Woman?” he said, steeling himself under her intense stare.

She really hadn’t changed much in the years since he last saw her. Her hair was shorter of course, dyed a ridiculous red color that did nothing for her, and the clothes perhaps a little simpler but still bought straight from Sloane Street.

He watched as she sauntered toward him, over swinging her hips in a way that made him wonder why some women did that. Molly, God knows how many times he watched her walk, had a natural swing to her hips, all women did, but at least Molly never went overboard with it. He felt a twinge of annoyance as she settled into John’s chair. Dropping the phone back into the box, he set it aside before sitting down across from her in his chair.

“To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely you are aware that you aren’t supposed to be in England again,” he said pressing his fingertips together in front of his mouth.

“Oh can’t a girl check in on old friends,” she replied airily.

“No, they can’t.”

Irene signed before leaning forward, her forearms resting against her knees. “You’ve changed, Sherlock. They say there is a life after death but what would we know about that.”

Sherlock remained silent, observing Irene Adler over the top of his fingers. He still couldn’t deduce her completely, but there was definitely another reason why she was there.

“Oh do get on with it, Woman. I don’t have all night. I have a dinner engagement tonight,” he said bored, getting to his feet to pace.

Irene’s eye’s widened at the announcement. “Oh, has Sherlock Holmes found himself a little companion. I do notice there’s a bit of a feminine touch around here. Who is she? Do I know her? You know I don’t like to share,” she purred, getting up and approaching Sherlock.

Sherlock eyed her warily. “You don’t know her. Nor will you know her. Now if you have no reason to be here and do not need my services then I must ask you to leave.”

“Your services. I could trade you your services for mine,” she began, reaching out a hand to press to his chest.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist and glared at her. Gotcha, he thought as he watched her eyes widen in surprise. “There is no reason for you to…”

“Oh, hello…” came a timid voice from the doorway.

Sherlock looked over and swallowed. “Come on in, Molly,” he said, releasing Irene’s wrist and crossed over to his Molly.

“Who’s this?” she asked quietly as Sherlock leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Old acquaintance. She was just leaving,” he said hurriedly, glaring over his shoulder as he straightened.

Sherlock’s eyes closed as he heard Irene’s footsteps coming closer. “I’m Irene,” she said holding out her hand.

Molly’s eyes shifted between the two before taking Irene’s hand. “I’m Molly. How-how do you know Sherlock?” she asked, feeling a tad uncomfortable under the other woman’s gaze.

“Oh you know, I employed him a few years back to help me with something,” Irene shrugged.

Molly’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You do look a bit familiar…” Molly was drawn back to that horrible Christmas. She had been called in to perform an emergency autopsy. Something about a major case that had the government involved. She remembered Sherlock and Mycroft coming in, Sherlock requesting to see the whole body. Her eyes widened and she stepped away from Sherlock and up to Irene. “You were dead. You were on my table and you were dead,” she said quickly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to remain calm. Molly’s hand flew out and a loud crack was heard through the flat.

Irene stumbled slightly, grabbing onto the back of John’s chair to catch her balance. Sherlock jumped forward and grabbed Molly’s arms, holding them to her side as she started yelling.

“You destroyed him! He was a mess when he thought you had died. And here I was, thinking I had lost him!” she yelled, struggling against Sherlock.

Sherlock held tight to Molly’s arms, but his eyes fell upon Irene and she looked him strange. He had always denied feeling anything for the dominatrix. He had been confused by the game she had been playing, thrown off by her sudden naked appearance, one that tended to crop up in his mind palace when he didn’t want her there. Truth was, he did feel for her in some way. Not in the way he felt for Molly, but he admired Irene’s intelligence, the challenge she gave him. She was just like him, someone who enjoyed the game they played and was never satisfied unless they won it.

Irene played a game of the mind through the heart, but Molly was Sherlock’s heart. Still holding a seething Molly, Sherlock took a deep breath. “Irene, leave. Don’t contact me again. I’ve moved on in life, I’ve grown, and do not need the past rearing its head.”

Irene hitched her bag up further on her shoulder before glancing at Sherlock and Molly one last time before leaving. He waited until he heard the front door close before releasing the pathologist.

She instantly rounded on him. “Why didn’t you tell me she was alive? And why was she here hanging all over you?” she said walking away from him and throwing herself on the couch. She curled her feet under her and crossed her arms, staring at Sherlock across the room.

“No one knows she’s alive. John doesn’t even know. Mycroft probably knows because he’s Mycroft but I did not tell him. And that is what Irene does. She manipulates people. She tried to pull similar tricks that she had pulled on me all those years ago. Don’t worry about her,” he replied, easing down on the floor in front of her. “Truly Molly, you are the only one I care about that way.”

Molly turned her head away and looked out the door. Her jaw was tense. Sherlock eased forward and lightly brushed his lips against hers once, twice, before capturing them. He pulled back after a few seconds to look at her. “I’m still mad at you,” she muttered, glancing at him, even though he swore he saw a small smile.

“I know you are. You’re always mad at me. Yet you still love me and I’ll never understand it.”

Loosening her arms she smiled a little. “God help me.”

Sherlock chuckled and kissed her again. “So, dinner?”


	12. A Baby on the Way and There's Hell to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlock is beyond nervous. His wife has gone into labor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me. Sadly.

There had been a plan. There was always a plan. Sherlock lived for planning and logic. But the moment Molly had gone into labor the plan was forgotten. His heavy footfalls were going to wear a hole in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen ceiling if he didn’t stop and get her to the hospital.

"Sherlock…" Molly cried, hand on her stomach as she leaned against the chair for support.

"Nappies…do we need to bring nappies? Or are they going to give us nappies to bring her home in? Where did I put those clothes?" he muttered to himself, spinning around with each thing he remembered.

"Sherlock…"

"John! What about John? Do I call him? Tell him to come over and take care of Toby?"

"If it makes you feel better," she muttered, wincing as another contraction hit. "Sherlock!"

"Car seat! They won’t let us take her home without it! Where is it? MOLLY! Where is the carseat!" he yelled.

"Oh for gods sake!" she cried as another contraction crippled her, almost driving her to her knees. She slipped off her shoe and threw it at Sherlock. "WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES YOU TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL THIS INSTANT!" she yelled.

Sherlock turned around as something hit him in the back and heard Molly yelling. He looked down and saw her shoe. Picking it up, he made his way over to her with an amused smile. “Did you just throw your _shoe_ at me?”

She snatched the shoe out of his hand and slipped it back onto her foot. “You need to calm down. Get the bag and carseat, it’s over by the bedroom door where it’s been for the past month, and get me to the hospital. You can call John and Mary on the way.”

Sherlock stomped off, grabbing the strap of the bag and handle of the carseat. As he straightened up he froze, “What about the bottles? Do we need those?” he called out, before slinging the bag onto his shoulder and hurrying to the kitchen to find them.


	13. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off an image by Sempaiko. In my mind, this is how Sherlock's return should have gone with Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly don't belong to me. The image used does not belong to me either, that belongs to the immensely talented sempaiko.

Please find sempaiko's image [here](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/originals/64/27/ca/6427ca473fb1b00ba08e7a7b60c3031a.jpg). 

\--

Molly opened her locker door. She was more than ready to go home for the night. She looked up and gasped at the reflection behind her in the mirror. She turned around, her lips parted as she took in the impossible. He smiled genuinely at her and she began to return it. Two steps forward and he was upon her. His hands curved around her waist as he pulled her in. Her hands found his hair, as soft as she remembered it from two years prior. Their lips collided with a fire that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. He spun her toward the lockers, the loud bang of her back hitting the metal ringing through the empty room. But it was Molly who pulled back first, her eyes finding his, as blue as she could remember, but twice as bright as her memory. Her lips still tingled from where his had met them. Her thumb traced over Sherlock’s prominent cheekbone. It was only then that she caught sight of and remembered the ring resting on the third finger of her left hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While immensely short, it's just a drabble. I may come back to it some other time and expand on it.


	14. Dance with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's disregard for furniture takes on a new face as he dances across the sitting room of 221B with Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

\--

Based to [this gif](http://24.media.tumblr.com/206a340a69ee6c618340c1de33b187c5/tumblr_n4lsmteDej1s04j1mo1_500.gif).

\--

It had been a normal night in 221B Baker Street before the music had started playing. Molly had gotten off a long shift in the morgue and it would figure that Sherlock was bored after not having a case for a few days. He had been getting better about it, but there were moments when Molly had to sit herself in the bedroom with the door shut just to separate herself from his rampages.

This time was different. The soft strains of a violin could be heard. Not that that was out of the ordinary but as Molly looked up, she saw Sherlock step away from the speakers. “Recorded yourself again?” she mused aloud, returning to the book she was reading. Two hands suddenly thrust out before her and she sighed. “Please, Sherlock, not tonight,” she begged.

"Oh humor me, Molly," he replied, snatching the book out of her hands and marking her page before pulling her to her feet. He held her lightly as he got her to sway to the music. She settled comfortably against him. The tempo of the music began to pick up and Sherlock became more enthusiastic. He moved her around the sitting room before spinning her up onto John’s chair. He led her to step to the table before rounding off the turn by stepping to his chair and lowering her to the floor.

The smile on Molly’s face as he held her when the returned to the floor would be seared in his memory for a long time. “Oh you and your disregard for furniture will never cease will it,” she teased, rising up on tiptoe slightly to place a kiss to his jaw.

A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Yes, it always did frustrate mummy.”

"Well, we won’t be able to do that at the wedding. However, there is one piece of furniture I wouldn’t mind disregarding right now and it’s down there," she replied with a jerk of her head toward the bedroom.

Sherlock, always one to have control, left the music playing as he danced her back to the bedroom, and shut the door behind them.


	15. How Hard Could It Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt request by stormweaver: Mycroft Babysits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing really belongs to me.
> 
> Also, not Brit-picked and no beta.

“Why do we have to let him babysit? John is perfectly available,” Sherlock complained as they climbed out of the cab before the large house. 

“He offered. He doesn’t see them enough as it is. Besides, it’s just a few hours while we enjoy a night to ourselves for the first time in years,” Molly replied, hitching the bag on her shoulder and helped her daughter down. 

Sherlock glanced down at the car seat in his hand where two large brown eyes staring up at him. “I know, Will, Uncle Myc won’t know what to do with you and your sister,” he said to the baby as he made sure Molly and Abigail were all set before he rang the door bell.

“I still don’t see why we can’t hand them off to John and Mary for the night,” he grumbled as the door opened.

“Aren’t you encouraging, Sherlock,” Mycroft drolled as he looked down at his niece and nephew. 

“Uncle Mikey!” Abigail screeched, throwing her arms around Mycroft’s legs. 

Sherlock rolled his lips inward slightly as he attempted not to laugh. Molly gave Sherlock a look, silencing him, before pushing past him and into Mycroft’s home. She set down the bag by the door before turning to her brother-in-law. “I really appreciate you doing this, Mycroft,” she said, kneeling down to take off Abby’s coat before holding her hands out for the car seat still in Sherlock’s hand. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Molly,” he replied, patting his niece on the head. Sherlock passed over the car seat containing Will. 

“Hi baby boy,” she cooed, unbuckling him and lifting him out. Will clung to his mother as he was freed from the confines of his seat. “Now, you know how to reach us should an emergency come up. Will has a bottle that would just need to be heated up if he gets hungry; there are nappies in there as well. Abby is mostly potty trained and will tell you if she has to go. She also has a snack in the bag. Otherwise, they should be all set,” Molly rattled off before giving her son a kiss on his chubby cheek and handed him over to Mycroft.

Molly quickly grabbed Sherlock’s arm as she saw him open his mouth to say something before she pulled him out. “He’ll be fine, Sherlock,” she said as the door shut and they walked away.

\--

Mycroft stared down at his niece who was still clutching his leg and his nephew who was patting the side of Mycroft’s face. As much as he adored and spoiled his niece and nephew rotten, it was one things to be in the presence of their parents while playing with them while it was something completely different to be left alone with the three year old and eight month old. He reached down and peeled Abby’s arms off his leg. “Right…what shall we do first?”

\--

Mycroft covered his face with his arm as water splashed up and over the edge of the bathtub for the third time in less than ten minutes. “Abigail, stop that,” he said, holding the squirming William with one hand while he tried to pour the water in the bowl over the infants head with the other. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Abigail submerged her hands again before flinging them upward. He flinched as the water splattered everywhere. This was why he would never have kids. Ever.  
Making sure the shampoo was out of William’s hair and leaving Abigail to her splashing, Mycroft grabbed a towel and set it in the one dry spot on the floor before lifting Will out and quickly wrapping him up. Ensuring Will couldn’t wiggle out of reach; Mycroft grabbed another towel before lifting Abigail out of the bath as well. He wrapped the towel tightly around her, scooped up William, and grabbed Abigail’s hand before marching them both to the vast sitting room. 

“Sit,” he commanded to his niece, watching as she flopped onto the floor with her wrinkly toes sticking out of the bottom of the towel. Mycroft rummaged through the bag and pulled out a pair of footie pajamas and a diaper before setting William down and unwrapping up. Holding up the diaper, he looked to see which was the front and which was the back for a moment. 

“Lastie goes back,” came the sweet voice of Abigail from the floor. 

Mycroft looked over his shoulder confused. What the bloody hell was a ‘lastie?’ “Lastie?” he asked.

Holding her fists up she moved them toward each other and away as if stretching something. “Lastie goes back,” she repeated, continuing the motion. 

Mycroft looked back at the diaper in his hand and saw the elastic like scrunching at the back. “Ah,” he mused before figuring out the diaper and securing it, hopefully correctly, on his nephew. William sucked on his fist while Mycroft, after a few seconds of struggling, slipped the pajamas on the little boy before setting him on the floor and watching him crawl around. 

“Abigail, come here. Your turn,” he said turning around to see just her towel sitting on the floor. “Abigail!” he called out, listening for running footsteps or giggles or something to get a gauge on where she went. 

“Abigail Violet Holmes, you come back here this instant!”

A giggle reached his ears from the direction of his office and with a quick glance back at William, who was happily playing with the strap on the bag, took off for the office. He spotted a foot sticking out from under the desk and knelt down to find Abigail hiding. “Out, now. We don’t play in here and you need to get dressed,” he said grabbing her hand and pulling her out before marching her back to the sitting room. He pulled her clothes out of the bag before helping her get dressed. 

Mycroft sat on the couch, watching the two children before William tugged his bottle from the bag and crawled over to Mycroft. Smiling stiffly, he lifted the boy, uncapped the bottle and settled back.

\--

“Mycroft?” Molly’s voice called out after he had failed to open the door and Sherlock, against Molly’s better wishes, picked the lock. There were no signs of destruction or Mycroft sitting with his head in his hands while William cried and Abby ran around. 

“Myc…” she started to say again as she entered the sitting room and stopped short. A smile spread across her face as she quickly gestured for Sherlock to join her. 

“What…” he said before he too stopped and had to walk away as he threatened to laugh at the sight before them.

Cradling Will in one arm while a bottle hung limply in the other and Abigail who’s head was resting in her uncle’s lap, all three were sound asleep on the couch.


	16. Rage and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Sherlock gets high, and Molly tries to confront him about it. She gets in his face and he hurts her. He doesn't realize what he's done until hours later when he comes down off of his high. Angst ensues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me, everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, and the BBC.

Artwork by the brilliant [itwasmycroftbbc](itwasmycroft.tumblr.com) on tumblr

\--

Molly didn’t even bother to call ahead of time. While she had a key, she didn’t live there yet, nor after that night and how it would turn out did she know if she ever would. With shaking hands, she shoved the key into the lock before shoving it in her pocket and storming upstairs after the door had unlocked. She ignored Mrs. Hudson’s cry of greeting, as she pounded the stairs, not that he needed any further reason to hear her on the steps. He knew everything, even when he was out of his mind.

She didn’t knock on the door before she threw it open. She spotted him in his chair, curled up on his side staring blankly at the chair across from him. He made no sign to acknowledge her existence in his flat before she threw her coat on the table, her key skittering out of her pocket, across the table and onto the floor. There was no missing the signs of what he had done, she didn’t know why, only receiving a call from Mycroft, who of course was spying on his brother again, warning her it might be a danger night.

“Where is it all?” she forced, straightening her back for a fight.

He just stared straight ahead, seeing through her, not acknowledging her.

“Sherlock, where is it all. Tell me or I’m going to tear this place apart until I find it all.”

She saw his jaw clench and his eyes close, his bottom lip pouting out a little. If she weren’t so angry with him, she would have found his petulant five-year-old adult self, sort of endearing.

“Fine then. We’ll do this the hard way.” Molly started with the bookshelf, tearing each book down and going through looking for a hollowed out on. How did this man have so many books? Abandoning the shelf, she turned to the fireplace and began looking for a loose brick. She found the Persian slipper under the couch and promptly disposed of his cigarettes. While they were the least of his concerns, he didn’t need his vice to fall back upon once he came down from whatever he had used. She knew his preference but she didn’t put it past him to try something new.

Tugging at the end of her hair annoyed, she looked throughout the flat before heading back toward his bedroom. Sighing, she began riffling through his drawers, looking for anything. Turning around she jumped slightly to find Sherlock standing right behind her looking positively thunderous.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes frantically searching the room for signs that she had found anything.

Molly crossed her arms and took a step to the side, away from the bureau. “Where is it all, Sherlock?” she asked for a third time.

His eyes flashed as he looked at her. “There’s nothing here. It’s gone, all gone.”

Her eyebrow rose skeptically. “Really…why should I believe you?” she replied coolly.

Molly gasped as his hand clenched around her wrist and he dragged her toward the kitchen. His grip was painfully tight; she tried to pull back, tugging with her other hand at his fingers, which seemed to only make him tighten his grip. “Sherlock let go.”

He tugged her up to the trash and pointed with his free hand. There barely visible underneath a paper towel was the silver of a needle and a burnt out spoon. “If only you had opened your eyes you would have seen it, instead of making a mess out of my flat,” he added, shoving her away before retreating back to his chair. Molly staggered and winced as her hip caught the edge of the table. She quickly grabbed her sore wrist and massaged it.

She watched him silently as he curled up in his chair again. Squaring her shoulders, she returned to stand before him.

“Go away, Molly,” he said dryly.

“No. I will not. Why Sherlock? Why start this up again? Didn’t you learn anything the last time? What could possibly have happened that made you think this was your only option?” she began, feeling herself getting worked up.

Sherlock just tucked his chin closer to his chest, closing his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he muttered.

“Then MAKE ME understand!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

She stared at him helplessly, trying to urge him through the haze of his high to spill his soul. “TELL ME!” she yelled, feeling a bit of pleasure when she saw him wince.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and stared at Molly. She had never really raised her voice to him before and if he had been thinking straight, he would have found it incredibly alluring. Instead, it just angered him. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

Sherlock swung himself vertical before standing up and taking two steps before he was toe to toe with her. Her warm chocolate eyes pleaded with him and he bit at the inside of his cheek.

“Tell me…” she repeated weakly, her hand rising to caress his cheek. His hand snapped up and grabbed her wrist before she had the chance to touch him.

“Why does it bloody matter? What’s done is done and you can’t undo it no matter how hard you try so stop trying! God, Molly, I don’t need a babysitter. You hear that Mycroft! I don’t need a babysitter!” he yelled to the otherwise empty flat. “And you, always you, you’re the one who thinks you have to save me. Poor Sherlock, he can’t take care of himself. He’s a danger to himself. I am perfectly FINE!”

Sherlock released her hand with a forceful shove, turning his back as she stumbled and fell, slamming her hands and knees onto the tile by the fireplace. Molly stayed down on the floor for a moment, stemming back the tears that stung at her eyes. She should call John or Mycroft or Greg, but knew that would only make matters worse. Gingerly, she got to her feet before turning to Sherlock who was sitting upright in his chair, his hands clenching the armrests. She stepped toward him and let her hand fly. It stung as it connected with his face but she would not stand around again. It had happened before and she had seen it in his eyes.

“I’ll just let you stew then,” she said breathing heavily before stalking down the hall to his bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her.  
Molly curled up on the bed, clutching his pillow to her chest, waiting.

\--

Sherlock rubbed his face a couple times as he felt all those intrusive thoughts of the case coming back to him. He couldn’t get the picture of that little girl and her mother out of his head. The woman had looked so much like his Molly and the little girl, while she was obviously the woman’s daughter and the angry ex-husband who had been rejected for partial custody and had violated a restraining order had killed both, he couldn’t help but think of his goddaughter, innocent, little, sometimes dull, Lacey Watson, in those moments when he first saw them. That was what led him back to the old haunt, notes had exchanged hands, and with his head down, hands shoved in his pockets, he had retreated back to Baker Street.

In retrospect, to get so upset over two bodies as he had was what bothered him the most. He had been with Molly for a year now and she had changed him, sometimes so much it seemed that it freaked him out. Lowering his hands, he looked around the flat and spotted things had been moved around. As his eyes fell on the table his stomach sank. Molly’s jacket was still sitting there. How long had she been there?

“Molly?” he asked aloud, wondering where she was. He got to his feet, staggering slightly at the dizziness that overwhelmed him. Dehydrated, need water. Molly first though. His bedroom door was closed. Hadn’t it been open?

He shuffled to the door, running a hand through his hair as he did so. He pushed the door open slowly, bracing himself for whatever he found on the other side. “Molly?” he said again, peering around the edge of the door and finding the small registrar curled up on the bed. Her face was stained with the tracks of her tears and he swallowed hard as his eyes raked over her looking for anything further. Her shirt had ridden up slightly and he saw the beginnings of a bruise forming on her hip. Next his eyes fell upon her right wrist and he fell back against the door feeling sick to his stomach. Bruises in the shape of fingers were beginning to bloom on her pale skin and he was sure that in the next twenty-four hours it would be completely evident.

The thud of his head against the door roused Molly and she blinked a couple times before looking at the broken man against the door. “Sherlock?” she said quietly, rising up slightly, wincing slightly as her hand pressed into the mattress.

He took one look at her, a strangled gasp escaping him before he quickly exited the room and stumbled to the kitchen. Molly quickly slid off the bed and followed him. She saw him bracing himself against the counter taking deep breaths. She carefully approached him, and placed her hand on his arm. The muscle twitched beneath her touch. “Sherlock…” she began.

He turned around and wrapped his arms around her tight, bending down to bury his face into the crook of her shoulder and neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sorry,” he rambled over and over again.

Molly released a breath she didn’t know she was holding before wrapping her arms around him and rubbing her hands over his back. “I know, Sherlock. I know.” Even as she said it though, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would happen again when things became too much for him.


	17. Improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt (for moriarty-hasthe-phonebox): Sherlock constantly complains how difficult it is to kiss Molly because their height difference, so she finds creative ways to get around the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me.

“For gods sake, Molly! Were your parents that short too?” he vented as he drew back from kissing his…person, significant other, whatever the term he wanted to use was. His back, though having seen its fair share of abuses over the years, was in pain from having to bend over so much to reach her. She was a nice height for a woman, a bit on the shorter side, but for his six-foot frame, the constant strain on his back and neck was beginning to take its toll.

Molly stared at the detective defiantly. “My mother was short yes, and she is who I happen to take after.” She had always been small, it had made it easier to blend in and be hidden among the crowds until Sherlock came along, finally saw her for who she was and not what she did, and blew the whole cover off. She loved him dearly but he still had a tendency to say the wrong things at the wrong time. Grabbing his hand and forcing him to sit in his chair, she crossed around behind it and began kneading at his neck and shoulders. 

The groan he released as her fingers dug into the skin and massaged the muscles stirred something deep in her stomach. She swallowed hard and continued her ministrations, giggling slightly as she hit a knot and he yelped. Bending over she pressed a kiss to his cheek before gently working the knot out of his shoulder. 

\--

Sherlock blew into the morgue looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Solved it did you,” she stated, as she put the final stitches into Mrs. Harriet’s chest. Poor woman had died of a heart attack on her own and wasn’t found for some time. 

“Oh yes. They were clever, oh so very clever.”

Molly snapped off her gloves before moving to a clean and unused autopsy table and hopped up on it. She waited until Sherlock began to move past before sticking out her leg to trap him and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward her, her lips crashing against his. Sherlock let out a muffled sound of surprise as they connected, but quickly and enthusiastically stepped between her legs and wrapped his arms around her. 

After a few heated moments, they parted. He looked down at her in shock but enjoying the warm flush to her skin, her plump red lips, and the shining pride in her eyes. “What was that all about?” he asked, glancing at the morgue door in case someone decided to come in while they were in what could be viewed as a compromising position. Molly pushed him back by shoving lightly against his shoulder. 

“No reason,” she replied airily, hopping down from the table and moving to put Mrs. Harriet back into the morgue refrigerator.

\--

Molly opened the door to 221B with a sigh. She was exhausted, the case she had been working with Sherlock, why he decided a chase around London was appropriate date material was beyond her, had her dead on her feet. Stuffing her key back into her pocket, she made to climb the stairs with Sherlock right behind before stopping short, turning around and waited until he rose up slightly before capturing his lips with hers. She held her hands heavy on his shoulders to keep him from stepping up to her step.

His hands gripped her hips as he quickly responded.

“What was that for?” he asked as he pulled away and looked at her through heavy lidded eyes.

Molly just winked before turning around and continuing up the stairs, knowing they would more than likely forego an early dinner for a little bit of dessert.

\--

“Molly, this is getting ridiculous, you should just move in with me,” he said stubbornly as they sat in the back of a cab from St. Bart’s to Molly’s flat. “What is the point in going all the way to your flat to drop you off when you’re just going to be getting in another one later to come over to Baker Street?”

Molly sighed, not expecting Sherlock to fully understand her need for space away from the slightly toxic flat Sherlock called home. She turned and looked at him as the cab slowed outside her building. “I will see you at Baker Street in a few hours,” she replied, digging around in her bag for the fare before handing her portion to the cabbie and climbing out. She knew Sherlock would attempt to follow her. Stepping out she turned around and stilled him with a kiss before he even had a chance to fully climb out of the car. 

“Please Molly? I don’t beg, you know that, but please, consider it,” he asked as he drew back with a small smile, he was beginning to get what she was playing at.

Molly ran a finger along his jaw with a smile. “Okay,” she replied, stepping back and closing the cab door. The window came down quickly.

“Wait! Okay for what?” he called out as the cab pulled away.

\--

Sherlock looked up at the sky briefly as they emerged from Angelo’s. They were going to get rained upon if they didn’t hurry and find a cab soon. But no sooner had they gotten to the edge of the pavement and looked for a cab did the sky open up. Molly squealed as she pulled her coat tighter around her. “This way,” he said, knowing they would probably have better luck around the corner.

As they walked, it began to rain harder. Instead of continuing, Sherlock stopped, wrenched open the door to a phone booth, and pulled Molly inside before closing the door. “Sherlock, what…” she began to say but winced as his foot stepped on hers.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, resting his hand on her waist as they adjusted to the cramped quarters. He smiled a bit, pulled Molly toward him, bent down and kissed her slowly. Molly’s hands rested on his arms as she pulled back.

“I know what you’re playing at,” he said quickly, ducking to fold down the collar of her coat to find the soft skin of her neck. 

“And what am I playing at?” she questioned breathlessly as he lightly left a trail of kisses on her neck.

“Don’t play coy, Miss Hooper, it doesn’t suit you.”

“How’s your neck feel, Sherlock?” she replied with a giggle as the rain stopped and she stepped back to push open the door of the phone booth. “Get me home and maybe I’ll give you another massage.”


	18. Right From Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: Molly and Sherlock get kicked out of a Mozart concert because he keeps saying how he could do better on the violin solos. Then he shows her back at Baker Street when she doesn't believe him. Romance ensues?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

“I can’t believe you! I can’t take you anywhere without you getting us kicked out or punished in some way,” Molly huffed as she pulled her coat off and hung it up angrily.

“Well, those so-called musicians were awful. They ruined Mozart. I can play better than them!” Sherlock stressed, waving his hands about slightly distracted.  
“Yes, so you’ve been saying! And I don’t believe you. Just because are accomplished on the violin does not make you better than those professionals. You’re just a casual player.”

Sherlock’s face hardened as he glared at the back of Molly’s head. He brushed past her on the stairs, ignoring the loud sigh emanating from his significant other before throwing off his coat and stomped over to his violin. He didn’t bother riffling through sheets of music as he waited for Molly to join him in their flat.

As soon as she walked through the door, grabbing his coat from the floor, Sherlock set the violin beneath his chin and raised his bow before he began to play one of the many solos they had heard before being kicked out. Molly froze, the Belstaff hanging from her hands as she turned and watched Sherlock.

His eyes held a fierceness she saw usually reserved for his cases. They bored into hers as she listened to the sound. Okay, so perhaps she was wrong when saying he was a casual player because he was truly talented. If he had had the drive for it and didn’t feel forced into it, he probably could have been a violinist for the symphony. Finally, his eyes left hers and closed, allowing himself to get into the music instead of proving a point to Molly.

She stood silently, and just watched him. Slowly, she let his coat fall to the floor before stepping toward him. She placed her hand on his hip and smiled slightly as he jumped, the music stopping suddenly as he opened his eyes and looked down at her. His hands fell to his sides, lowering the violin and bow to his chair.

“Still think I’m a casual player?” he mused, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her to him.

Molly lifted her hand from his waist and draped her arms over his shoulders, linking her fingers behind his neck. “Casual, yes. Amateur, no,” she replied with a smile.

“And…”

“And…” she trailed off, sliding her hands down his chest and tugging the tails of his shirt out of his trousers. “I’m sure you, Mr. Consulting Detective, can deduce how I feel about your showing off to prove me wrong,” she added, smiling. Sherlock grinned as he found the zipper of her dress and pulled it out before bending to attach his lips to her neck.

Molly giggled as he clutched her tighter before spinning her around and gently laying her down on the couch before he collapsed over her, keeping himself up a bit by bracing himself with his forearms. He lowered his head and kissed her gently. “Oh there is so much more I could prove you wrong on, but I deduce that I am going to prove to you just how right I am,” he said smoothly, sliding the straps of her dress off her arms.

—

Sherlock pulled the blanket tighter around them as he adjusted his hold on Molly. His body felt cool now that the heat of the moment had passed and their breathing had slowed. Molly was facing him and lazily kissed his jaw before smiling tiredly at him.

“So was I right?” he asked, rubbing his hand over the smooth skin of her back.

“Right about what?” she questioned in reply. She hooked her leg over his hip, as she got more comfortable.

Sherlock gave her a withering look. “You know what. Feigning innocence doesn’t suit you, Miss Hooper.”

Molly smiled and kissed him sweetly. “You were right. You’re almost always right.”

Sherlock smiled for a moment, before her words finally sunk in. “Wait, almost?”

Molly giggled before grabbing the blanket, as she rolled away from him and got to her feet before sauntering off toward the shower. He watched her go with a smile and waited until he heard the door close and the shower start before getting to his feet and following suit.

A high-pitched squeal of his name echoed through the flat as his low rumbling laugh answered before he climbed into the shower after her.


	19. In the name of science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt request from weasleygirl1928: Molly is surprised by how affectionate Sherlock is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me, as always

For someone who claimed that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side and maintained that caring was not an advantage, he sure was clingy. He wasn’t unbearably so, surprisingly, but enough for Molly and even John, who wasn’t the most observant out of the lot, to notice.

It had started with what Molly had deemed an innocent brushing of hands while she handed him a prepared bacteria culture. She had always been attracted to the aloof and startlingly brilliant man, but in that brief touching of skin, she felt that magnetic pull again. It was as if Sherlock Holmes had his own magnetic field that either attracted or repelled people and kept those affected in a constant state of one or the other. Perhaps she was a masochist, but it was a fate she had long since resigned to. That simple, accidental touch reminded Molly of the dreams she had of wondering what the feel of his scarred, callused hands would feel like against her skin.

But as she lay in his bed, her back pressed to his front, his arm tight on her waist, and his once cold feet sandwiched between her legs, she remembered there were only so many times he could kiss her or touch her; and only so many ways to say it was for an experiment before she had cornered him one afternoon as she found him reading a file in her office and asked for his findings. As she snuggled into his embrace she thought his results on showing and showering her with affection were quite sound.


	20. Billy Wiggins, Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on headcanon no. 122 on sherlolly headcanon's tumblr page (and submitted to me by itwasmycroftbbc): It was Wiggins who first deduced Sherlock’s affections towards Molly and to help Sherlock realize his feelings, he would compliment Molly’s hair, skills and clothes, in the hopes it would make him jealous. It was also Wiggins who first came to notice just how protective and jealous Sherlock was over Molly, after experiencing an hour long lecture on how Wiggins should stop flirting with his pathologist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me.

To Sherlock, everyone had their uses until such a time or event or situation arose that no longer required him. Billy Wiggins had been a very useful find that day. The boy had a keen eye, and was quite the scientist himself when he wasn’t trying to get his fix. But now, things were getting a bit strange.  
“The missus went to get another sample from Mr. Blackstone,” Wiggins said from across the lab where he was scratching at the old holes in the crook of his arm.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope confused. “What missus?” he asked bored as he lowered his gaze again.

“Your missus.”

Sherlock sat back and looked at the young male with a look of disdain. “I don’t have a missus.”

“Course you do. Miss Hooper…”

“Is not my missus, _Billy_ ,” Sherlock began scathingly, “she’s my pathologist.”

Wiggins just shrugged and slipped off his stool before leaving the lab and setting off to find Molly.

Sherlock returned to his work.

Twenty minutes later laughter reached his ears as the door of the lab swung open. “I’m always honest, Miss Hooper, your hair is perfect like that. If Mr. ‘olmes actually paid me,” Wiggins began before looking over at Sherlock who looked up confused, “I could afford to even get clothes like yours, out of these rags.”

Molly looked between the two men. “Sherlock, you don’t pay him? What’s wrong with you?” she exclaimed, following Wiggins over to his research.

Sherlock frowned at the exchange between the two.

—

A month later, Sherlock was once more flitting around the morgue with Wiggins watching from the sidelines. This time a man had turned up drowned on the banks of the Thames but there was also evidence of foul play. Wiggins knew the area the man was found in well but the man didn’t belong there. Perhaps he had washed down river but Sherlock had determined he hadn’t traveled far.

“So what killed him, Molly?” Sherlock asked her to continue.

“Rat poison. Injected just below the third rib on the left side. Very small gauge needle, barely discernable, but I found it from the discoloration of the spot after I cleaned off the river muck,” she replied coolly, looking at Wiggins and rolling her eyes.

Wiggins snorted his laughter and Sherlock shot him a silencing glare. “So a wealthy man likely got on the wrong side of some deal and ended up dead in the river. Molly, I need your help. We have to go under cover.”

Molly looked at him surprised. “What? Me? Why?”

Sherlock spun around giving her the ‘why are you asking stupid questions?’ look. He softened his features before slowly approaching her. “Molly…you will be perfectly safe. Really. I just need to attend an event to find the killer, and it would look pretty pathetic and highly suspicious if I were to attend alone.” Sherlock grabbed her arms lightly and plastered on his most charming smile, and it was genuine, he wanted her to go with him. “You will be perfectly safe.”

Molly looked up at him opened mouthed before pressing her lips together and nodding. She gasped as he leaned in and kissed her cheek quickly. “Excellent, I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Sherlock left the morgue quickly with Wiggins on his heels.

—

Sherlock hopped up the steps to Molly’s flat and knocked swiftly on the door. Wiggins would be keeping watch outside the venue for any trouble but had insisted for some reason on picking up Molly with Sherlock. Molly opened the door and Sherlock stared dumbfounded at the specialist registrar. The deep blue dress hugged her figure perfectly and flared out at the waist slightly before flowing down to below her knees. Her hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail was instead curled into a low chignon. “You look very nice, Sherlock,” she stated, a pink tint coming to her cheeks. Sherlock just continued to stare.

“You look beautiful, Miss Hooper,” Wiggins chimed in stepping up from behind the detective and leaving an exaggerated kiss on Molly’s cheek.

Sherlock finally broke out of his shocked silence by spinning Wiggins around. “Can I speak to you for a moment, _Billy_ ,” Sherlock said stiffly, grabbing the boy’s arm and pulling him around the corner.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at or why you’re playing it but you are not worthy of Molly Hooper’s affections. She does not reciprocate them in the slightest. I don’t need a lowly assistant _flirting_ with _my_ pathologist and causing all sorts of distractions and problems in my work place. The only reason Miss Hooper does not tell you otherwise is because she is too kind for her own good and too trusting over everyone. It’s something quite admirable about her, I admit, but that is not for you to take advantage of. I have taken advantage of it in the past and have been working very hard to keep that from happening now so I will not have you mucking it up or you will find yourself back in that Lestrade’s custody faster than you could deduce what was happening. Molly is a kind and loving and strong woman who doesn’t need some lowlife drug addict who happens to have a genius IQ fawning over her,” Sherlock began slowly before Wiggins interrupted him.

“You know you just described yourself.”

Sherlock stepped back and blinked a couple times, looking at Wiggins incredulously. Boy did have a point though; a niggling thought in the back of Sherlock’s brain intruded. Sherlock pressed his lips together before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I…it is true though. A lowlife drug addict with a genius IQ is not worthy of Molly Hooper.”

“No,” Wiggins said with a slightly toothless smile, “she ain’t. But she worthy of a reformed drug addict with a genius IQ who happens to be waking up to humanity.” Wiggins gave Sherlock a slight shove back around the corner of Molly’s building.

He stumbled slightly and pulled his suit jacket straight, glaring behind him before facing a shivering Molly on the steps. “Problem resolved?” she asked as he took the steps slowly and joined her at the top.

“Not quite…” he muttered, taking her hand delicately before swallowing quickly and caressing her cheek with his other hand. “I-I haven’t…” he trailed off before swooping down and caught her lips quickly.

He jerked away suddenly and released a shaky breath. “What was that, Sherlock?” she asked slowly, looking up with him with a slight smile.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Molly before settling on some words to use. “Something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now, and something I’d like to try again.”

Molly’s smile widened as she suddenly felt very warm. Her free hand dove into the curls at the back of his head and pulled him down for a more solid kiss. She lingered for a few moments, her toes curling at the low but soft moan Sherlock released as her fingernails scraped at his scalp.

He drew back, his eyes slightly unfocused. He grinned lazily at her before beginning to school himself once more. “You’re cold, I forgot,” he said quickly shrugging out of his suit jacket and slinging it across her shoulders. It was very large on her but she looked, dare he say adorable in it?

“Shall we go to this event?” he offered stepping up beside her and offering her his arm.

“Of course, we have a killer to catch,” Molly responded, smiling as the scent that was strictly Sherlock, a lingering cigarette smoke with whatever his natural smell was, surrounded her as she pulled his jacket tight around her. She looped her arm through his and allowed him to guide her down the steps. As she crossed past the corner of her building, she caught Wiggins lingering just in the shadows with a wide smile on his face. She winked at him before leaning her head against Sherlock’s arm.


	21. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by FluffySherlollyFan119: One where Sherlock is stumped (for some reason) at a crime scene and Molly comes in and solves the crime as if it were obvious to anyone (embarrassing Sherlock in front of Lestrade and Anderson in the process) and then Sherlock has to ‘punish’ her if you know what I mean… make it deliciously smutty please!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

Sherlock crouched down, his hands steepled beneath his chin as he stared at the crime scene. He had thought it would be cut and dry when Lestrade had called him about the dead body, but now that he could look at it, it seemed much more difficult. Sherlock, for some reason unbeknownst to him, couldn’t figure out how the man had died. He would need further analysis at the morgue. After explaining to Lestrade that he would need a toxicology report and autopsy performed at Bart’s before he could say anything more, Sherlock came out of the warehouse and made for the road where he could flag down a cab. 

That was two hours ago. Now, he hovered with Lestrade and Anderson around the autopsy table in the morgue, his hands clasped behind his back, as he watched Molly meticulously inspect the body from the outside first. She lifted the hand and squinted slightly as she observed the fingertips and fingernails. Pursing her lips, she dropped the hand before stepping toward the head, turning it from side to side. There was something about the way she inspected a body, her thin fingers nimble but determined, her eyes intent on the person before her, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she tried to piece together what had happened to the dead. 

“Really Sherlock, I’m surprised you didn’t notice this earlier and say something. Of course I will need to look at his organs and run a hair analysis to prove it but I’m willing to bet Mr. Ainsworth here died from arsenic poisoning,” Molly began explaining before Sherlock cut her off. 

He ruffled his hair in frustration, turning away from the autopsy table, before he turned back around and looked at Molly sharply. “Show me.”

Molly bit her lip as she tilted Ainsworth’s head to the side. “Here, he’s missing clumps of his hair and here,” she directed, moving to lift his hand again, “his fingernails are discolored. Everything points to poisoning, potentially arsenic, but like I said it’s inconclusive until I run further testing and cut him open.” She stepped aside as Sherlock invaded her space and began looking Ainsworth over himself. 

“Didn’t you say he was an office worker who appeared to be putting an effort in his appearance, potentially to impress his boss?” Lestrade asked from the other side of the table.

Sherlock straightened and opened his mouth to begin. “Mr. Ainsworth was likely poisoned over a long period of time and if he worked for a firm that held many employees, coupled with the increased signs of personal grooming, I’m willing to bet he was poisoned by a coworker who wanted the same promotion Mr. Ainsworth wanted,” Molly chimed in, cutting across Sherlock.

Lestrade and Anderson exchanged a shocked expression that soon gave way to growing amusement. Sherlock stared hard at Molly as she looked between them all as if nothing was amiss. How could she possibly have known that? Why did she cut across him? Why did she embarrass him like that? “Got all that? Good,” he spat out to Lestrade and Anderson before stalking out of the morgue. 

Sherlock, leaning against the wall outside the morgue, dug in his pocket for his phone and quickly jabbed his fingers against the screen as he typed.

**Baker St. ASAP. –SH**

A smirk graced his lips as he heard the ding of an arriving text emanating from the morgue. Pushing off the wall, he went outside to find a cab. He had to get ready.

\--

The swift snap of the leather tip of the riding crop stung against the pale skin of her leg. Molly screwed her face up in an effort to keep from crying out knowing it would only fuel him further. A tiny squeak escaped as the crop hit her stomach once, twice, three times before he stopped.

“Why am I doing this again, Miss Hooper?” he asked, trailing the tip of the crop over her right breast.   
Molly’s lips parted in an effort to answer him but a choked moan was her only reply as she felt him slip a finger between her soaking folds. “God, don’t stop,” she moaned.

Sherlock’s finger slid out of her abruptly. Molly gasped at the absence. A swift snap of the riding crop against her right leg quickly followed. “Why am I doing this, Molly?” he asked her again, climbing onto the bed and straddling her hips. He trailed a finger from her clavicle, between her breasts that were rising and falling with her quick breaths, and lightly across her ribs, mentally counting each one. 

Molly struggled against the scarf holding her to the headboard as his finger slowly trailed lower and lower. However, as soon as she moved, his hand shot up and grabbed her at her neck just below her jaw and held her head straight. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at him. “Don’t move. Now, I’ll ask you again. Why am I doing this? Hmm?” he growled, releasing her.

He slid down the bed and pushed her legs apart and over his shoulders. 

“I… _oh_ ,” she moaned as his tongue began to lap slowly at her hot core. Her thighs clenched about his shoulders. His hands trailed from her sides and grabbed her legs, pushing them wider apart. Her hips jerked under his ministrations and he released one leg to press down on her lower abdomen, keep her in place. 

“Stop moving or I will stop,” he murmured as he drew back from her pussy. Molly instantly stilled, a high whine echoing the room as he slid his hand a bit lower and began moving his thumb against her most sensitive bud. Her head fell back. Sherlock’s eyes flashed as he saw her mouth part and he could feel her legs quivering against him.

“Shall I make you come this way?” he hissed, resuming his previous act. His eyes closed as he relished in the sweet taste of her arousal. 

“P-Pl-Please,” she keened as she struggled against her bonds. 

Sherlock threw the riding crop aside, ignoring it as it clattered to the floor as he held her legs apart and worked faster and harder with his tongue. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as he worked her. He kept an eye on her face though, he felt her femoral pulse and found it erratic and as soon as he found her close to her release, a scream about to tear forth from her throat, he stopped and climbed back up to hover over Molly. 

Her brown eyes were unfocused as she tried to look at him. Sherlock gripped her chin once again and stared down at her. “Last time, why am I doing this?” he asked, his eyes cold. Molly jerked her chin out of his grip and he growled as he climbed off her, grabbed her ankles and flipped her over. His hand came down hard over her smooth, bare ass. Molly screamed at the sudden impact. “Answer me, Molly Hooper. Why. Am. I. Doing. This?” he punctuated with short slaps of his hand to her rear. 

“Because I embarrassed you! I solved the case before you in front of Lestrade and Anderson!” she cried, trying to pull her legs up to her chest and away from the detective. Sherlock grabbed her ankles again and carefully turned her back over before lowering himself over her. He untied his scarf from around her wrists and carefully massaged the soft skin on each wrist before pressing a gentle kiss. He looked down at her warily. 

“Are you okay?” he asked as he took in the red welts on her skin. He would take care of them later. 

Her hand rose to his face and brought it down to hers. “I’m fine,” she murmured before capturing his lips. He exhaled before returning the pressure with fervor. His hands gripped at her hips as their kiss became even more passionate. Her hand slipped between them and wrapped around his hard penis. He gasped at the contact and felt his arms weaken from their bracing above her. He pulled his lips from hers and attached them bruising to her neck. He allowed her to continue moving her hand over his member, her fingers curling over the head; it drove him wild. 

Sherlock, with a growl, pulled away from her and nudged her legs apart with his knees before he slowly entered her. “This is going to be quick,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips before he began to move slowly at first. He began to pick up the pace, his hips pushing him deeper and deeper, faster and faster into her. Molly’s hands grappled against his back, her fingernails digging into the sweat slickened flash. He pushed into her once, twice, three times before she screamed his name, her head thrown back. He came with a strangled groan two thrusts later, his head dipping down to the curve of her neck. 

He stayed there for a moment, collecting his breath and his thoughts before pulling out of her and climbing off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, exiting his bedroom and into the bath. Molly gingerly rolled to her side, her body exhausted after his punishment. While she was sore now, and would be for the next day or so, she quite enjoyed it when he did this to her. Of course, she didn’t want it every time, but it was incredibly pleasurable. He returned with a bottle of lotion before climbing onto the bed once more. “On your stomach,” he instructed and she obliged. 

Sitting on her legs, Sherlock squeezed some lotion onto his hands before he began to smooth over her red ass. He slid up and began kneading at her shoulder’s, releasing the knots that were likely to form as a result of her binding. Molly’s eyes closed at the feeling, her exhaustion finally taking over as she slowly began to drift. Sherlock smiled a bit as he realized how relaxed her body had become and realized he could finish later. Setting the bottle aside, he tugged the sheets out from under her before slipping under them and covering them both. He brushed her hair aside and kissed her cheek before closing his eyes, his hand resting on her back as he too began to drift to sleep.


	22. A Day Late and A Dollar Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by thecomputerengineer: Before The Fall, Sherlock didn't go to Molly for her help, just asked Mycroft's help. So she thinks he's dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

Molly stared down at the crisp white cloth. She had seen many like it before, thousands like it before, had observed what was beneath the cloth before, but this was different. She had seen the person beneath it before as well, countless times, considered him a friend, though he likely didn’t consider her at all. She saw him, she saw the man he truly was and not the man he portrayed. Closing her eyes as tears began to fall, she reached forward and with shaking hands, pulled the cloth down from his face. 

Someone had had the decency to close his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to see his sharp wit reflected behind impossible blue-green-gold eyes. For someone who had just fallen off the roof of the very building in which she stood he actually looked pretty good on the outside. She knew however, that he likely was all broken inside. The cuts on his face while superficial were nothing compared to the bruises on his abdomen she acknowledged as she pulled the cloth down, stopping before his waist. His clothes were folded neatly on the stand usually filled with her tools. 

She wiped away the tears on her face before turning to his clothes. His scarf was stiff with his blood but despite that she picked it up and held it to her nose. His scent was still barely visible beneath the heavy odor of iron. She set the scarf back and returned her gaze to the still form of Sherlock Holmes. She stood before his head, ran her hand over his blood-caked curls, before bending and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Sherlock,” she murmured, before pulling the cloth back over him and leaving the morgue, wiping tears from her eyes.

\--

Molly’s footsteps faded into the distance, a door slammed signaling her leave of the building. The white cloth fell to the floor with a soft thump. The body, cut and bruised, got up and went to the sink. It reached into the cabinet and pulled out quickly compiled clothes. He winced as he pulled on the t-shirt before slipping on a gray sweatshirt and zipped it up. He turned on the tap, ran hot water and bent over gingerly, rubbing vigorously to get the dried blood out before standing up, a hiss escaping his teeth. He pulled the hood up over his head and quickly left the morgue. Mycroft would take care of replacing his body with one that looked similar.

He knew he had to meet Mycroft at the safe house before leaving the country but he couldn’t resist. Stopping on the pavement outside Molly’s flat, he watched the second floor. He could see her shadow moving about the sitting room before coming to the window, a glass in her hand. He looked down at his phone briefly, as if someone checking a message. He waited until he saw her move away before he put the phone away and tried to make sense of everything.

Why was his chest hurting, at least more than what was likely a broken rib or two? He could still feel her lips on his forehead, her hand on his hair. He had felt something in those last moments with her earlier that day. He had truly meant it when he said she saw him. Her small “I don’t count” had left him uneasy and with a clench in his chest where his heart was. Sherlock Holmes looked back up at the now dark window of Molly Hooper’s flat. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and bowed his head. “I love you too, Molly Hooper,” he muttered as a black car pulled up alongside him and he climbed in.


	23. Only Lies Have Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to 'A Day Late and A Dollar Short' per the request of Maya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.

The first year had dragged by painfully slow. There were good days and bad days as time wore on. The whole group, connected only by the detective had slowly drifted apart. She knew John stopped living at Baker Street six months after the fall. She couldn’t understand why Sherlock had jumped for the longest time. She had seen the news and the newspapers and truly believed them to be false. She knew Sherlock was for real. She knew what he was capable of. But that didn’t make the pain of his absence any less.

The second year was less painful. She still had bad days where she would look up expectantly as the door to the morgue opened or when she was in the lab she would find herself drawn to what she affectionately referred to as his microscope to do her work. He would think her ridiculous for being so sentimental. He thought her silly when she wasn’t being sentimental. She knew she was just a pawn in his eternal game of chess, a tool for him to use and manipulate to achieve his end. Despite him being gone for two years, she could remember that last conversation with him so clearly. She could remember how embarrassed she was comparing him to her father.  
Then she met Tom. He was sweet and normal and everything that Sherlock hadn’t been. She had met him shortly after the first anniversary of Sherlock’s death. His family loved her, she loved them, she loved his dog, she was certain she loved Tom. Which is why she said yes to him when he proposed to her almost a year later. Sure, it seemed a bit quick, but she loved Tom dearly. 

There was always a nagging though, which had that unique deep tambour to it, in the back of her mind that she wasn’t happy. She maintained to herself that she was just missing the owner of that deep voice a little more than usual. 

After a long shift, Molly Hooper rubbed her shoulder as she made her way to the locker room. She was looking forward to nothing more than returning to her flat, making a quick dinner, and curling up in bed with Toby. Tom was away visiting his parents for the weekend so she was alone. She opened her locker and reached in to grab her engagement ring when something, or rather someone, caught her eye in the mirror. 

Molly felt all the air leave her lungs as she turned around. She had to be hallucinating or she was seeing a ghost because there was no way he could be there. He wore a small smile, so unlike how he had been in life. She felt tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t realize she had been moving forward until she was right before him. She raised her hand as if to rest it against his cheek but she drew it back. No, there was no way he was real. 

“You do count you know,” the specter said as she turned her back on it. He was just saying that. 

“I know I don’t,” she replied as she pulled out her ring and tucked it into her pocket before grabbing her bag. 

Molly tensed as a hand grabbed her arm and spun her around before the other hand grabbed her other arm. It wasn’t cold and the pressure was real. She could feel each finger pressed against her arms. She could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. “You do count, Molly. You’ve always counted. Even if I’ve never said it or acknowledged it,” he explained, looking her in the eye.

She blinked up at him; his eyes were the same, like sunlight on the sea. She raised her hand and pressed it gently against his cheek, her thumb smoothing over the sharp planes of his face. She never would have dared this two years ago, but as she felt what she had dreamed of touching, her resolve broke. “It really is you. You…you died though! I saw your body bloodied and bruised! How…” she gasped, tears falling unchecked as her hand fell from his cheek and moved to the collar of his Belstaff. 

Relief washed over Sherlock’s face and he released her arms. “That is a story for another time. You look well.”

Molly stepped back blushing and pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I am. But, I did miss you terribly. I just…I can’t believe you’re not dead.”

She smiled at him before turning away. She felt Sherlock’s eyes on her. Suddenly she was jerked back toward him and crushed against his chest. “I missed you too,” he muttered into the top of her head. She tilted her head back and looked up at him before crushing her lips to his. She felt him stiffen but she maintained pressure, slowly coaxing his lips into motion. She felt his hands pull on her waist and she dropped her purse before fisting his hair. It wasn’t until she felt her back hit the lockers behind her that she was drawn out of what was taking place and she pulled away.

She stepped out of his hold, grabbed her purse from the floor and quickly left, her fingers wrapping around the ring in her pocket, the diamonds digging into her hand. It wasn’t until she had opened the door to her quiet flat and leaned back against the door that she raised her hand to her smiling lips, still numb with the feel of Sherlock’s against them. If someone had looked at Sherlock Holmes then, sitting in the locker room of the St. Bart’s morgue, they would have seen a smile on his lips as well.


	24. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by the amazing Miz-Joely: Unilock Sherlolly with chem lab romance/smexy time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

Her eyes lifted from her slide to see him across their station. His eyes were glued to the eyepiece of the microscope, his long thin fingers fiddling with the fine focus. Not many people spoke to him but plenty spoke about him. He was rude, callous, and perhaps the biggest asshole anyone had the misfortune to meet, especially if he was in one of his moods. She didn’t see the fuss. So some people liked their privacy, but he sometimes blurred the lines between privacy and public information. 

More than once she had seen him roll his eyes or call out some student in the halls of the chemistry building. But Molly Hooper saw more than she cared to admit and more than he likely observed. He seemed to know everything about everyone and Molly was fearful of what he had managed to find out about her. It wasn’t like they were friends, they got along amiably, were able to accomplish tests and experiments without too much difficulty, but she had seen the way he looked at her sometimes, when he thought she couldn’t see him. While he was drop dead gorgeous, Molly had not been blind to that, it was his intelligence that attracted her to him.

Her cheeks burned as he cleared his throat and her eyes snapped to his in a panic. Her hand slipped and the slide she was holding fell and shattered on the floor. Her cheeks and ears turned red as she slid off her stool and crouched down to pick up the fragments of glass. She knew she should just get a broom and dustpan but her thoughts weren’t there. They were on him.

“Careful, you’ll cut yourself,” came his deep baritone from above her. She hissed as her finger slipped on the piece of glass she was picking up and blood began welling up along the cut. 

“No kidding,” she mumbled, dropping the pieces back to the floor before beginning to get up to run her finger under cold water. A heavy hand fell upon her shoulder and directed her to sit back down. A cold paper towel wrapped around her finger and was held tightly above heart level. She chanced a glance up at Sherlock and looked back down again as she found him watching her intently. 

“Hold this,” he instructed, lifting her uninjured hand to wrap around the towel. She watched him move around the lab, grabbing another towel and the first aid kit. He was gentle when he returned and removed the wet cloth before patting the thin cut dry. “Good thing is you won’t need stitches,” he said, adding some antibiotic cream and wrapped it up with a plaster. 

She smiled grimly as he released her hand. Why was he being nice? He was never nice to anyone. “Thanks for this,” she muttered, getting up off the stool and closing her notebook. She figured it was time to go home, there wasn’t anything left for her to do, it was getting late, and she had an exam to study for. She shoved her notebook back in her bag before turning to the door. “Have a good night, Sherlock.”

Her hand was on the door to push it open when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turn her around. There was only one thing Molly Hooper was certain of and that was that Sherlock Holmes was kissing her. Sherlock Holmes was kissing her, Molly Hooper. Her bag fell to the floor with a thud as her hands found his hair, the soft springy curls tangled between her fingers. Her back was pressed against the door. But as soon as it happened, it stopped. She stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the young man. 

“What…what was that about?”

“I…” he began, his facing twisting as he tried to find the right words. Well wasn’t that a first, Sherlock was speechless. “I wanted to see how my body reacted to a rush of chemicals associated with attraction and arousal,” he said quickly and definitively. 

Molly looked at him before shaking her head. “Why did you just say you wanted to?” 

Sherlock pressed his lips together before mumbling, “I wanted to” very quietly. 

“Would you…erm…like to try again? After all, no experiment is complete without checking your results,” she suggested, her tongue poking out to wet her lips. 

With a wicked smile, he grabbed her hips and spun her around before slowly walking her back to the tables. He lifted her up and sat her down, his thumbs playing with the hem of her shirt as a low groan came forth as her hands tugged his hair slightly. Her lips crashed down against his. He nudged her knees apart and stood between her legs, his hands smoothing over the skin of her waist. His fingers danced delicately over her skin memorizing the texture and every curve of her body.

She gasped as his lips trailed over her jaw before settling in the crook of her neck. He withdrew his hands from her torso and grabbed her shirt. He tore at it, buttons popping off and clattering to the floor. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her peaked nipples before reaching up and pushing her shirt off her shoulders. Next came her bra, he tossed it away, seeing out of the corner of his eye as it hung off the microscope he had been using. How appropriate. He bent over and took her right breast into his mouth, his tongue dancing over her nipple. He had to grab her arm to brace her as she jerked on the table.

“Oh god…” she moaned, her head tossed back as he worked. She hooked her legs around him, pulling him in closer and pulling herself closer to him in the process. He growled against her breast before releasing it and hastily tugging at her trousers. Her fingers found the snap to his jeans and began tugging at it before pulling down his zip. He gave up on her pants before hastily tugging his own down and pulled his shirt over his head. 

Molly dragged in a hasty breath admiring him in all his glory. She hopped off the table and tugged down her own jeans and pants, wiggling them over her trainers as she stepped over to him. He returned her to the table but gestured for her to stand over it, her back to him. She bent over the table, feeling raw and exposed but completely unabashed by it. She didn’t even care if anyone walked in, despite the fact she knew no one would. 

His hands trailed over the smooth skin of her ass before sliding over her slit. She moaned against the table, hands scrambling to find some sort of hold as his fingers, first one then a second entered her. Sherlock withdrew his fingers from her. He positioned himself at her entrance before he slowly pushed into her. Molly gasped as he did, her knuckles turning white against the black of the table. He pulled out and thrust back in, his body partially draped over hers. 

His hips were like a piston against hers, flesh slapped against flesh, sweat trickled over his forehead and down his chest, plastering the curls on his forehead to his skin. Sherlock bent over Molly and pressed a kiss to her back as he continued to thrust against her. Her moans became louder; he could feel her walls tensing around him and with one more thrust her world shattered. She screamed his name. It echoed through the empty lab and with a couple more thrusts, Sherlock swiftly pulled out of Molly, spilling over her backside with strangled moans. 

Silence filled the chemistry lab broken only by the sound of their breathing. “Do…don’t move,” Sherlock stammered, bracing himself on the other tables as he went to retrieve paper towels. Glass crunched under his shoes as he came back with the towels. He carefully wiped up his mess before cleaning himself up and disposing of the towels. 

He watched as Molly began redressing. He approached her and wrapped his arms around her again; nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck where he admired the mark he left there. “I think this experiment was entirely successful. The results are quite sound,” he murmured into her skin. 

“Oh, and what results are those?” she asked, slipping her arms around his waist.

Sherlock drew back and kissed her soundly. “That the brain’s chemistry and the body’s reaction to it are complex but very, very enjoyable in the short term. And that I would like to take you out to dinner and perhaps run further experiments later on,” he suggested, looking more shy than she thought he was capable of. 

“I think your hypothesis is sound and we should put it to the test once you and I put our clothes back on,” she giggled, her cheeks a healthy pink as she kissed his cheek before pulling on her jeans and crossing the lab to retrieve her bra from the microscope.


	25. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they've had a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me as usual

"Molly…" Sherlock began, his voice hesitantly filling the palpable silence of the silver confines.

Molly stared straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest as she sat on the floor of the elevator, silently willing the doors to open. They had been stuck for an hour. She had tried to leave him in the lab after they had once again disagreed on her moving in with him. As much as she wanted to wake up beside him every morning and go to sleep beside him most nights, she wasn’t about to do so until he had at least cleaned and sanitized 221B. Who knew what was growing in that place. 

"It has come to my attention that I may not have said the right thing back there."

Molly snorted with indignation. 

Sherlock slid along the floor of the elevator until he was sitting before her. She turned her head to the side, avoiding his gaze and trying to ignore it as he reached out and took her hand.

"I am an impossible person to live with. I understand that, just ask John he can tell you horror stories. I agree that Baker Street needs to be cleaned and sanitized and who knows what else, but I am sorry, Molly Hooper, for assuming and insinuating that you would be doing the cleaning. Please, forgive me," he explained, raising her hand to his lips. 

Molly pulled her hand away and tucked it back against her. “Clean the flat then I will consider it,” she replied stiffly, still not looking at him. “But I’m still mad at you.”

Sherlock nodded before leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “You’re always mad at me,” he muttered as he drew away. “But you love me anyway.”

Molly rolled her eyes, her lips tugging up into a smile. She turned to look at him and kissed him gingerly. “For some reason I have yet to figure out.” Sherlock leaned in for another kiss but the lights came back on and the elevator began to move again.


	26. A Time and Place For Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Miz-Joely: Omegaverse Sherlolly with an unexpected heat in an awkward location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> \--
> 
> This is my first omegaverse fic and I hope I did okay with it as I'm not overly familiar with the verse and did a little research.

As far as bad timing went, this absolutely took the cake. While cake would have been nice, it was not what she wanted. She had been careful, taking all the necessary precautions so she wouldn’t end up in this very situation, but it wasn’t her fault there weren’t enough hours in the day and the shops closed early. She should have expected it though she thought miserably as she tried to make herself as small as possible in the back corner of the lab furthest from the door. She had been sure to put a ‘Closed for Decontamination’ sign up before stripping herself of her lab coat, jumper, and jeans.

Her heat had struck her at the most inopportune time. Her mobile lay discarded on the other side of the lab, out of reach and temptation. Could she really stay there for the next few days riding it out until…

Molly moaned as her nose detected a familiar and most delicious smell. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, allowing the deep spice to flood her senses. It was coming toward her, growing stronger with each passing second, as did the ache between her thighs. Footsteps outside the lab stopped as they likely saw the sign but the doors burst open.

His eyes were blazing brighter than she had ever seen them. His coat was off before the door had even swung shut behind him. He swiftly locked the lab before stalking over to her, removing each offending article of clothing that was between them. She had known he was an Alpha from the beginning, which was why she had been taking the suppressants in order to not interrupt their working relationship. 

Her eyes widened as she observed his thick, hard cock. She had always felt an inexplicable pull toward him. She watched as he kicked aside her discarded clothing before crouching down before her, his hand stroking over his hard member. His tongue darted out, moistening his lips as he surveyed her. He had done this to her before, something she didn’t entirely enjoy but given the situation, she could give a rat’s ass about his deductions. 

He leaned toward her, breathing deeply. Her head spun with the deep scent he gave off, like a heavy sedative that made her compliant but furthered her arousal like a heady aphrodisiac. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the smooth column of his throat, her held in breath burned in her chest. She could feel him vibrating above her, his hands rough as they tore her shirt off and threw it behind him. He lowered his hands to her breasts. He gently caressed them before wrapping his fingers around the material of her bra and pulled hard, tearing the fabric up the middle. She shrugged her shoulders out of the tattered garment.

She reached up, her fingers diving into the dark curls on his head and pulled him down hard, her lips crashing against his. A low growl vibrated through his chest and straight to her groin. His hands grabbed her wrists and roughly forced them above her head. “I have been dying to do this, keep your hands above your head,” he growled, releasing her hands before reaching down between them, and pushed his thumbs through the thin fabric of her knickers, shredding them and throwing them aside. 

Sherlock’s hips jerked as he felt her tiny hand wrap around his cock, her fingers applying the right amount of pressure, twisting at the right moment, her thumb tracing over the slit. “Enough,” he growled, grabbing her hands and holding them over her head before he nudged her legs apart with his knees. With one swift thrust, he pushed into her, her mewl only fueling him further. 

Molly threw her head back, bumping it against the floor as his girth filled her. Why had she denied herself this for so long? Her hands struggled against his hold as he thrust inside her. She struggled to keep her legs apart. He finally released her wrists and grabbed her ankles, jerking them back toward her chest to keep her open to him. 

His hips slammed against hers, skin slapped against skin and her cries echoed throughout the lab. Molly could feel his knot growing against her bum and it sent a thrill of excitement through her. He bent over her, his torso keeping her legs wide as he lowered his lips hungrily to her neck. He kissed roughly at first before beginning to suck hard, surely leaving a mark that would be visible for a while. She was his; only his, and he would make sure that everyone knew it. He bit her beautiful skin, marking her, beads of bright crimson welling up. 

His hands dug into her hips, likely bruising her but Molly could care less about it. She reveled in it, enjoyed his fingers flexing and pulling her to meet him thrust for thrust. She held on for dear life, her fingernails digging into the slick skin of his back. 

“Give it to me, Sherlock, I want it. Please,” she begged, her voice ragged with want.  
He stared down at her, his pupils blown back so much that she could scarcely see the blue-green of his eyes. His nose was filled with her scent, so heady and beautiful, sweet even. He was the bee to her nectar. His entire existence was for her, to please her, to make her his, and he would make sure of it. He slowed his thrusts; he wanted to see her face, to feel her emotion when she took his knot. He could feel her walls contracting around him. With one swift thrust, he locked into her. 

Molly screamed out his name, her hands clawed at her lab coat beneath her as her orgasm rocked through her. Sherlock groaned out of his release, his hands leaving her hips and propped himself above her. Her eyes we closed, her lips parted as she came down. He peppered her cheeks and jaw with gentle kisses. He raised one hand and gently rubbed away at the dried blood on her neck. He would ensure he bandaged her up once they were able to part. He knew her heat was likely to continue for a few more days at the very least.

Her eyes finally flickered open, slightly disoriented. “So beautiful. My Molly,” he murmured against her neck. She made a soft humming sound as her hand lazily drifted to his head and carded his hair through her fingers. She could feel his penis pulsing within her and knew of the chances of pregnancy with this but couldn’t give a fuck about it. She could smell his scent over her, her neck feeling a bit raw after his ministrations, but that was a petty thing in the broad picture. He groaned into her neck as he continued to spill his seed within the petite woman. 

After a few more minutes, he felt his knot deflating and began to pull out of her slowly at first. She was his, and he wanted to ensure she was safe. She looked beautiful spread out beneath him, her sex pink still dripping. He withdrew completely before getting to his feet and grabbing a towel. He wet it before kneeling beside her and carefully wiping at the remaining blood from her neck. He tossed it aside before gathering her into his arms, waiting for the next round to overcome her.

She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his chest. “Not the most comfortable of places I’ll admit but thank you,” she said upon drawing back, looking up at his mussed up hair and bright eyes.

Sherlock smirked, the thick scent of their activities filling the space, and perhaps his own personal scent spiking again. “My pleasure is your pleasure, Miss Hooper,” he drawled, rolling back on top of her and swallowing her giggles by kissing her long and hard.


	27. Daddy's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock admires his newborn daughter and discovers what love truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> \--
> 
> Fic for Sherlollysmooch

Sherlock felt like he was on autopilot as he stood over the cradle in Molly’s hospital room. Wrapped in a cream blanket, a little pink hat cradling her tiny head, sat their baby, their daughter. He stuck his finger into her wrinkled hand and exhaled sharply as her tiny digits wrapped around it. She was so small, how could he even begin to know what to do. A nurse stood by and nodding encouragingly as he gently wiggled his hands under her head, back and nappy-clad bum before lifting her up and resting her in the crook of his arm.

While he didn’t have much experience with babies, little Charlotte Watson had definitely been a helpful learning experience. She wiggled slightly, making a light cooing noise before settling out in his arms, her wide eyes blinking open to look at him. An odd calming feeling washed over him. Sherlock began at the top of her head, the little hat pulled back slightly to reveal a dusting of dark hair. Would it stay dark like his or would it lighten a bit to be more like Molly’s? Would it be curly or straight? He trailed a finger over her chubby cheek, her mouth opening in a wide yawn as he did so. Her eyes were blue, although he could see himself in their shape and color, but he knew from the readings he had done prior to her birth that her eyes could change. He sort of hoped she would have Molly’s warm brown eyes.

Her little nose was completely Molly and Sherlock felt his lips twitch with a repressed smile as he continued to observe her. Her lips were completely his, down to the fullness of his bottom lip. Not that he paid much attention himself, but Molly had an affinity to take it between her teeth when they were intimate and when he asked her why one night as they were lying in bed, her head on his bare chest and his hand smoothing over her hair, she told him she had always wanted to do it.

Shaking his head, he looked over his daughter’s little fingers, smiling as she once against gripped his finger tight. There was something right about it, something right about the feeling. His heart felt tight in his chest and he sniffed slightly as he looked at her. She was beautiful and tiny and so much a wonderful blend of Molly and himself. He bent his head and breathed in, the sweet scent of her skin intoxicating. Sherlock had never understood the saying a woman became a mother when she was pregnant but a man became a father when he first held his child. But as he gazed down at little Abigail Violet Holmes he suddenly understood and it terrified him.

Sherlock turned and looked with wide eyes toward his Molly who was watching them. Molly gave him a tired smile, holding out her hand for him to join her. Sherlock stepped over slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed, shifting his hold on Abigail so she was facing her mother. “I’m-I’m a dad,” he stammered, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he gazed between his daughter and his wife. Molly reached up and cradled the side of his face, her thumb running over his impossible cheekbones.

“You are, and you’ll be perfect. She’ll love you,” she said, giving him a small smile before turning her eyes on Abigail. She lifted her out of Sherlock’s arms and held her to her chest. Seeing mother and daughter together made that calm he got when he first held his daughter wash back over him. He leaned forward and gently kissed his wife before kissing the top of Abigail’s head.

“And I love her. And you,” he added, sitting back and hastily wiping his thumb under his eyes. She wasn’t even a day old and she already had him wrapped around her little fingers.


	28. Just a Plaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous headcanon: When Little Girl Watson has to think really hard she puts a band aid on the inside of her elbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always none belongs to me.

"Charlotte, why is there a plaster on the inside of your elbow?" John asked of his six year old daughter as he entered Baker Street to pick her up from her day wit her Godfather.

"Thinking, Daddy," she replied as she lay on the couch, her eyes closed and screwed up in deep thought, though John thought she looked like she was trying to poo. 

Running a hand down his face, he gave a steely glare over at the detective who was bent over his microscope, while Molly, holding a squirming two -year-old Abigail, pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Molly adjusted her grip on Abby before crossing over to Charlotte. “Come on, Charlotte, I think Daddy has to have a few words with Uncle Sherlock. Let’s go see Mrs. Hudson about those biscuits,” she said, taking the blonde’s hand and leading her downstairs.

She cringed she heard John’s raised voice waft downstairs. “YOU DID NOT TEACH MY DAUGHTER THAT PUTTING NICOTINE PATCHES ON HER ARM WOULD HELP HER THINK BETTER!”

"Oh do relax John, it was just plaster. Completely harmless," she could hear her husband reply before the sound of something crashing to the floor and the slam of the door upstairs greeted her knock on Mrs. Hudson’s door.


	29. A Place to Call Our Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been years in the making, the insults, the back and forth, the arguments, made it all worth it as they came to this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me. 
> 
> This was based on an image submitted to me by Nytli on Tumblr who requested a sherlolly fic inspired by the picture.

Molly climbed out of the car and stared. The cottage, barely visible through the trees, was beautiful. The pink of the flowers in the barrel added a little bit of color to the otherwise varying shades of green. The closing of the car door had Molly turning to face Sherlock. The gold of his wedding band glinted in the filtered sun and Molly’s heart leaped into her throat. It had been years in the making, the insults, the back and forth, the arguments, made it all worth it as they came to this moment. 

“How did you find out about this place?” she asked, a yawn stretching across her face. Nearly nineteen hours of flying and another half-hour of driving were beginning to weigh on her, but the fact that it was still early in the night, at least for them and they way their careers worked, had her somehow awake. Watching as Sherlock bent over to pick up her suitcase, her eyes darting down and her teeth taking her lip between them, perhaps being awake wasn’t a bad thing. 

“Internet. Plus, it came recommended from my parents,” he shrugged as he stood and caught the look on her face. “Mrs. Holmes, do you see something you like?” he asked, his voice lowering slightly.

Molly started, her cheeks taking on a pink tint. Tucking Molly’s case under his arm, he wrapped the other around her shoulders before pulling her to him and kissing her temple. “Let’s get inside.” Sherlock led her to the door where he stopped, dropping the cases beside the door before digging out the key and opening it. Molly squealed as her feet left the ground and she cradled in Sherlock’s arms as he stepped over the threshold. “Ridiculous tradition but I couldn’t resist,” he explained, as he set her down. 

He quickly grabbed their cases and brought them inside before shutting the door and turned back to face Molly. Spending the week in California, enjoying the garden terraces of the spa, the wine, Molly could not have asked for a better honeymoon, or as Sherlock insisted on calling it, a sex holiday. He reached out and pulled her to him, his hands linked at the small of her back. She smiled up at him, her arms thrown over his shoulders and her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. His fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his wedding band cool against her skin.

Molly rose up on her toes slightly as she pressed her lips to Sherlock’s. A tingly sensation flooded from their joined lips all the way to her toes as his fingers skated up her back. She pulled back with as gasp before she giggled as his hand slid over her ribs and tickled her. “What?” he asked his brow furrowed as she stepped back slightly to compose herself.

“It tickled,” she replied through giggles. Sherlock smirked before he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him, his free hand moving to her waist before his fingers began to wiggle against her side.

“Sherlock! No!” she squealed, trying to dance out of his grasp. But she couldn’t help but grin as he laughed. He grabbed her about the waist and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she took his head between her hands and kissed him sweetly. Sherlock didn’t know where he was going but estimated where the bedroom was. He bumped into a couple doorways along the way, Molly laughing each time he did before he silenced her with another kiss. 

Stumbling through a doorway, Sherlock drew back and looked around. “Finally,” he said, his voice low as he kicked the door shut. The air in the room grew thick as soon as the door closed. Molly clung to Sherlock, her forehead pressed against his as silence descended, punctuated only by their breathing. Sherlock walked her to the bed and carefully lowered her to the mattress. He was gentle as he climbed up over her, straddling her hips, his fingers nimbly unbuttoning her shirt. He bowed down over her, his lips gracing over each bit of skin he revealed. 

Molly sighed at the contact. He had learned quickly what she liked and didn’t like, but life with Sherlock Holmes was never boring and that extended into their more sexual encounters. She sat up slightly as he slipped the shirt from her shoulders. Looking into his eyes, Molly unbuttoned his shirt quickly, peeling it over his shoulders and tossing it to the side where it draped over a lamp. Sherlock quickly stood up and tugged down his trousers and pants before reaching up and doing the same with Molly’s, a wicked smile across his face. 

Molly gasped as his lips brushed over her mound, his tongue flicking once over her most sensitive nub. How many times had they done this now? The first time had been awkward and filled with laughs, which was what they got for running back to her flat after wrapping up a case. 

_The moment her flat door had closed, the feeling of the room changed. Molly remembered everything about that night, the tentative touches he gave her, how she showed him how to touch her and where to elicit the best responses. She had learned what he liked. The next morning as she rolled over in bed and looked at Sherlock with his curls in disarray, she smiled as he woke slowly and knew then, even if he didn’t, that she wanted to wake up to that every morning, or at least those mornings where he had decided to sleep the night before._

She moaned as he introduced his fingers. She felt a shot of air against her skin as he smirked. “Get up here, Sherlock Holmes,” she groaned, wiggling slightly.  


Sherlock pulled back, crawling back up the bed as he sucked on his fingers. Her eyes blazed as she wrapped the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. Her hand snaked between them and wrapped around his thick cock. Her thumb slid over the head, spreading pre-cum around before sliding her hand down. Sherlock’s head fell forward to her neck, his lips light as he kissed her, his teeth scraping gently against her skin. His hips began to move of their own accord, he could feel a tightening in his lower back and reached down to stop Molly. He kissed the palm of her hand before releasing her and taking himself in hand. He slowly entered her, his tongue flicking over her nipple.

Molly’s hands reached down and gripped his ass, pulling him to her. “Move,” she cried. Sherlock began to move, his hands holding him up above her. He stared down into her beautiful face. How he hadn’t seen it before, or rather not knowingly acknowledged it before, was his biggest regret, but he had a lifetime to make it up to her. He reached down and pushed her leg up, deepening his thrusts. Molly groaned as she felt him sink deeper inside her. 

Sherlock’s breaths grew ragged, his thrusts becoming more disjointed as he felt himself coming undone. Molly opened her eyes and watched him move. His eyes were squeezed shut, sweat shined on his forehead, his plump lips parted as he breathed. Molly reached up and caressed his cheek. His eyes flew open and with one thrust, he came undone. Molly’s free hand quickly slid between them, her fingers playing at her clit as she quickly joined him. 

Sherlock sagged, catching his breath while his cock twitched inside her. Molly ran her hand down his back, her fingernails scraping down the skin gently. She could feel the remnants of scars, long since healed over but the reason behind them not forgotten. He pulled out of her and rolled off Molly. She rolled onto her side facing him and curled against him. His arm wrapped over her waist as he kissed her temple. 

“I love you, Molly Holmes,” he murmured into her hair, his breath ghosting over her ear.

Molly smiled against his chest as she reached down and pulled the blankets up and over them. “I love you too, Sherlock.”

\--

Sherlock started as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, squinting against the bright sun in his eyes. “Molly?” he asked just before the figure shifted.  


“No dad,” came the sweet voice of his daughter. Sherlock’s shoulders sag as he stares out around him. He could have sworn he had been at that cabin again. He wondered if she remembered that cabin. He could remember every scent and color. “You were in your mind palace for a while.” Sherlock’s lips twitched at her voice. Leave it to his daughter to come up with what he was thinking. She was so much like her mother, not only in looks but also in personality. The only difference was her hair had been curly while her mother’s had been straight, her eyes were blue, Molly’s were brown, but everything else was almost exactly the same.

Sherlock looked around him; there was Abigail, standing in front of him, his newest grandson cradled against her chest in his sling. William sat beside him, looking at him worriedly. Sherlock clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He couldn’t bring himself to look into his son’s eyes, Molly’s eyes. He looked down toward the ground as he felt a tug on his trouser leg. “Up!” came Violet’s little voice. Named for her grandmother, he scooped her up and sat her on his lap. His granddaughter was giving Abigail a run for her money in the amount of energy a little one could have. 

He could remember the moment Abby began walking, it was like she suddenly had jet engines attached her to feet because she was off. As she got older, she would try and engage her brother in activities, but Will had always been one to sit back and observe. Molly had always said he was just like Sherlock. Drawing in a deep breath, he passed Violet off to William before getting up and stepping past his children. 

The sun reflected off its surface. The irony of where he was was not lost on him as he glanced to the side with a smirk, funny how life worked out. He sighed as his hand reached out and traced over the letters decorated with gold. The white surface was warm under his fingers but he felt cold. 

He straightened before he turned back and wrapped his arms around Abigail and William. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. As they walked away, Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder and squinted. His eyesight had gotten worse over the years. His hair graying. It started at his temples, something Molly liked to run her fingers over when they lay in bed at night. She said it made him look dignified, he proceeded to list all the reasons why it wasn’t possible. 

He ran a hand through gray hair. “I love you, Molly Holmes,” he murmured.

This time there was no reply.


	30. If anyone asks, I'll never tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The result of a hijacked post on tumblr. 
> 
> Sherlock gets more than he bargained for when he goes to crash at Molly's flat one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> The original posts belong to bencumber and fuckyeahsherlolly

[Original post seen here](http://fuckyeahsherlolly.tumblr.com/post/81203600543/sherlock-decided-to-crash-mollys-flat-again-one-late)

 

\---

Molly’s breath hitched in her throat as she spread her legs wider apart, her fingers sinking into her wet folds while her thumb continued to move over her clit. She knew he was there, had heard him hit the weak spot in the floor of the hallway leading to her bedroom. She should stop and find out what he wanted. But there was no stopping now he was there. She squeezed her eyes shut as she pictured his piercing blue-green stare, his lips, sculpted and plump twisted into a smirk as he realized something for a case, the way he maneuvered around the lab or the morgue in perfect tandem to her. 

It was interesting how they worked together, purely instinctual, like a well rehearsed play. Her toes curled as she imagined running her fingers through that head of hair, curls tangling around the digits as she massaged his scalp. She could almost feel his breath on the skin of her thighs as she worked herself, her head tossed back against her pillow. She dug her heels into the mattress, levering herself up slightly to get a different angle. She could have used a toy from the box beneath her bed, but nothing she owed worked better than her own fingers. Her free hand played with her breast, massaging it, working the nipple into a taut nub as she felt herself growing closer. “Oh god…” she moaned, her fingers working faster. “Sherlock!” she cried as she reached her release. 

Her eyes flew open as she heard a thud against her door. 

That was when he knew it was all over. His head fell back against the door with a thump, his free fist in his mouth as he bit on his knuckles to keep from making a sound as he came over his stomach and hand. The sound of his name falling from her lips in such a manner had been his undoing. As he took deep breaths to calm himself once more, Sherlock began get up from the floor.

He hurried to the loo off the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him. He washed his hands twice, took a towel and cleaned his stomach before tossing the rag in the hamper. Glancing in the mirror and ruffling his hair, he opened the door and stopped, his eyes wide. Molly, her cheeks flushed and her hair falling from her pony tail stood outside the door in a tee shirt and her knickers. 

They stared at each other for a moment. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but for once words failed him. Molly just shook her head. “It’s fine. Though next time you’re more than welcome to join me,” she said before turning toward the kitchen. “By the way,” she called out. Sherlock left the loo and turned to look at her, “Your zipper is undone.”


	31. Don't Wake the Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (another hijacked tumblr post) Sherlock thinking he can get away with simply kissing Molly on the nose after a sexual-tension laden conversation and Molly simply flinging him to the walls and ravishing him until he can barely stand. The only difference is who can barely stand after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.

"Excellent, I"ll be in touch," he remarked straightening up and wrapping his scarf firmly around his neck. Walking around the edge of the table and the body of poor Mrs. Reynolds, Sherlock rest a hand on Molly’s waist as he leaned in and left a quick kiss on the end of her nose. "I’ll see you at home," he murmured winking at her, his fingers toying with the hem of her lumpy blue jumper before turning his back to go tell Geoff that the case was closed. 

But before he even had the chance to push the door open he felt himself being spun around and his back slamming against the wall beside the door. Molly’s mouth was firmly attacking his, her tongue forced between his lips in his momentary lapse of motor function. Quickly realizing what the hell had just happened, he jumped into action. His hands quickly shoved her white lab coat to the floor before he slipped his hands under her jumper and tugged it over her head. 

Her fingers wrapped around the front of his black button-up and pulled hard, buttons pinging off and clattering to the floor around them. “You owe me a new shirt, Miss Hooper,” he growled before reciprocating in kind with her own floral shirt. It was a pity really, he quite liked this shirt of hers, but the need for her sweet skin against his was a much more vicious motivator and he would just have to buy her all the floral shirts in the world to make up for it. He made to pull off his coat before Molly’s hand wrapped around his wrist. 

"Leave it on," she said, her eyes dark as Sherlock stared at her. His hands instead went straight to her trousers and unbuttoned them. She pushed him away slightly as she quickly slipped her trousers off. His hands fumbled over the button and zip of his own trousers before he undid them enough. Molly grabbed the waistband of his trousers and tugged him forward, her hand slipped down his pants and Sherlock cursed quietly under his breath as he felt her hand wrap around him. 

He slipped his fingers under her knickers and against her sweet folds, smirking as her breath hitched as he slipped his fingers into her, his thumb ghosting over her clit. She pushed his trousers and pants down a bit more, freeing him further as she worked him into full hardness. “Fuck…” she moaned as he moved his fingers slowly. 

It was only when Sherlock realized his hips were jerking into her hand of their own accord that he slipped his fingers from her dripping cunt and tore her knickers from her. “Sherlock!” she admonished him. He smiled wickedly as he slipped them into the pocket of his Belstaff. He swiftly lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist under his coat. He turned them around and pushed her against the wall, using it to his advantage. 

"Quiet now," he murmured as he positioned himself at her entrance and adjusted his grip on her, "we wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors."

Molly laughed but it quickly turned into a loud moan as he pushed into her. She buried her face into his neck, her lips working against the smooth skin at the juncture as he thrust into her. She held on as tight as she could, her legs losing their grip against his waist. He looped his arms under her knees to hold her better. 

"Oh god, Sherlock," she whimpered, feeling herself working up quickly. He moaned against her neck as he nipped lightly. He knew the chances of someone coming to find them in such a compromising position but he frankly couldn’t give a damn. All that mattered was the sweet sounds she made as he thrust into her, his pelvic bone brushing over that gratifying bundle of nerves. 

He could feel that tightening in his lower back and began to move faster, or as fast as he could manage given their position. He pushed her further against the wall. She cried out a strangled version of his name as she fell over the edge, her head falling forward to his shoulder. He sucked hard against her neck as he stilled, his cock twitching in her cunt. He drew his lips from her neck and left a trail of light kisses along her cheek to her lips. 

"Feeling better, Doctor Hooper?" he asked, the hazy fog beginning to lift from his head as he carefully pulled out of her and slowly set her on her feet. He held onto her as her legs threatened to give out under her. She looked up at him with unfocused eyes before giving a slow nod. "Excellent," he replied, reaching down and handing her her jumper. He stuffed himself back into his pants and trousers and zipped up. Looking down, he realized he would have to button his coat, something he hated to do. 

"You still owe me a new shirt, Molly," he remarked as he buttoned his Belstaff. She slipped the jumper back over her head and stepped into her trousers. Had his recovery period been much shorter, the idea of knowing she wasn’t wearing any knickers would have made him grow hard all over again and they’d be right back where they were. 

"As I said before I was so rudely accosted, I’ll see you at home," he said once she was dressed again and kissed the tip of her nose. Sherlock drew back, smirked before he unwound his scarf from around his neck and tied it around Molly’s. Without a word, he swept out of the morgue. Molly reached down, to pick up her torn shirt. She caught site of herself in the metal surface of an empty table and made to pull off his scarf until she noticed a distinct purple mark. 

The indignant shout of his name following him down the hallway had Sherlock smiling as he threw open the doors to the street.


	32. It's not a party until someone's face ends up in the cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For asneeze-father-of-achoo's birthday: Molly decides to surprise Sherlock for his birthday but gets more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

The door to 221 B was open and, as usual, the place was in disarray. Although its residents would argue otherwise, or at least one of them would, it was completely normal and suited them. What didn’t suit its long term resident was when things were done for no reason. Which was why he tried to ignore the singing that was creeping closer with each step on the stairs. 

_Happy Birthday to you,_

He wasn’t a child anymore. Birthdays came and went with no celebration. Everyone was born only to instantly begin dying the moment they came from the womb crying and screaming with discomfort. Birthdays were tedious. He never actively sought out company nor presented his company on others who’s days of birth were upon them. 

That was until the newest resident of Baker Street arrived just hours after his four minute exile had begun and ended. He could already seen the little touches around the flat. His stack of newspapers that usually littered the table were now neatly stacked. There was a second smaller refrigerator now that contained all his body parts and experiments after the larger, nicer one had undergone a deep clean and sterilization. 

He watched her over the tips of his fingers as she came into view. Her face was illuminated by the candles flickering beneath her chin. His mind instantly took a picture of this moment, her warm face visible despite the dark of the stairwell behind her, and hid it away in her file. 

_Happy Birthday to you…_

She hesitated at the look on his face before she crossed the threshold and into the flat. Slowly she crept toward him, careful not to drop the cake in her hands as she side stepped the table in the middle of the floor and knelt down before him.

_Happy Birthday, Dear Sherlock_

She smiled up at him as she finally got comfortable and raised the cake to his lap, setting it down gingerly before quickly withdrawing her hands as they brushed against his pajama pant clad legs.

_Happy Birthday to you._

He silently stared at it for a second before he blew out the candles. Her smile wavered slightly before she got back to her feet and lifted the cake from his lap before taking it to the kitchen. He listened to her rummaging around for a moment before starting slightly as she returned, holding out a small plate and a fork.  
He took them wordlessly and waited until she had sat across from him in John’s seat. She cut off a piece and took a bite.

"Birthday’s are a ridiculous tradition. I stopped having parties when I was five," he began. 

Molly rolled her eyes and took another bite before pointing her fork at his cake. “Shut up and eat your cake, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked before he too dug into his cake. They ate in silence for a while until Sherlock got to his feet and approached Molly to collect her plate. She smiled slightly before following him to the kitchen. No sooner had she joined him than Sherlock quickly swiped a finger across her nose leaving in its place a smear of white frosting. She stared at him incredulously as he leaned forward and kissed her nose, taking the frosting off with it. He reached for a towel to wipe off the rest when Molly slammed another piece into his face. 

He yelled in surprise as he stared at her, bits of cake dropping off his face and onto his shirt. He dove for her, only for her to squeal as she jumped away and took off around the flat. Sherlock chased after her. He pined her against the wall by his bedroom and after a moment’s hesitation, kissed her. She smiled against his cake and frosting covered lips as she reached up and cradled his face between her hands.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock," she murmured as they parted.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper," he replied, taking the towel still in his hand and wiping the cake from her face.


	33. Something in the way she moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for liathwen.... the result of a sherlollychat conversation led to Sherlock watches Molly cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, nothing belongs to me

Molly’s long ponytail bobbed around, the end brushing her lower back, as she danced around the kitchen, a pair of tongs in her hand. The sweet smell of onions in the pan wafted through the open door of 221B Baker Street while the rice sat soaking up water in the pot on the back burner. It had taken her a month to scrub the kitchen clean of the remnants of Sherlock’s experiments, but after she had broken the news to him, he had been eager in assisting her. She swayed to the music, her hand on her small bump as she did. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stirred the sauce she was making.

Sherlock leaned against the doorway of the flat watching her move. There was something about the way she moved that just hypnotized him. The gentle sway of her hips, fuller now in her fifth month of pregnancy, the flicking of her hair. He watched as she took the spoon from the pan and lifted it to her mouth to taste her creation. His tongue darted out as he watched her spin the spoon around and pulls it out of her mouth. His eyes scanned along her, smiling as he finally noticed how she was wearing his shirt and robe with a pair of her yoga shorts underneath. He would never tire of watching her.

Carefully toeing off his shoes and leaving them outside the door, he crept inside, taking care not to bump into the chair in his way. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as she jumped, wielding the spoon in defense. “Sherlock! I didn’t hear you come in!” she squeaked.

He kissed beneath her ear as he loosened his grip, his hands coming to rest on her stomach. “Can I try?” he asked, his nose tracing along the edge of her ear.

Molly shivered at the feeling of his breath against her ear as she took another spoonful of the sauce and swiftly stuck it in her mouth. She danced out of reach, the spoon hanging from her lips as she eyed him. She grabbed the handle and twisted the spoon slowly out of her mouth, her eyes teasing as she watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips again. “Got a nice image in your mind palace,” she teased, her voice light as she set the spoon aside.

Sherlock cornered her against the counter, his hands braced on either side of her as he bent his neck to reach her and kiss her deeply. “Between that and this outfit of yours, Doctor Holmes, I’ve deduced dinner needs to wait,” he replied darkly, as he bowed his head again to capture her lips, sliding his hand from the counter to the knobs on the stove to turn off the burners. He drew her away from the counter and walked her slowly toward their room.


	34. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thank you to MizJoely who did some editing for a piece of school work for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

It was just a game of cat and mouse, or at least, that’s what it had started as. His ears had picked up on her light, dancing footsteps on the carpeted floor. His nose flooded with her sweet scent, headily laden with the spicy tang of an omega aroused and between heat cycles. She had slipped from his grasp after he first bedded her, her cropped hair dancing over her pale shoulders, before he rolled over with a loud groan and took off after her. It was luck that only a few days before, his parents had taken their son for his annual visit to the country.

But here they were now, his hands, large and imposing, framed her head as he held her against the bed, her tiny wrists cupped under his hands. “You know I like it when you struggle, Molly.” Her slightly upturned nose wrinkled slightly as she stared up at him. She brought her leg up in what both of them knew would be a useless attempt to throw his large body off her. “Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, using his own legs to hold hers down. 

His hips lazily dipped forward, tracing the pink, blunt, tip of his large cock against her pelvic mound. She gasped between her teeth as he repeated the motion increasing pressure until she squirmed under him in an attempt to raise her hips. 

"Tell me what you want, my sweet Omega," he crooned, his penetrating blue-green eyes appeared silver almost in the dim lighting of his room. 

"You. Now. Heat. Unbearable," she begged, her head turning to the side as she bit her lip in an attempt to keep from moving, to bring the distance between them closer together.

"Oh, but are you ready?" he asked, his hands releasing her wrists. Instantly, she reached up and pulled his head down to hers, crashing her lips to his. Their teeth clashed in her haste but she couldn’t be bothered to sit there and laugh about it. She had better things to be doing. She hooked her leg behind his, realizing she had freedom of her lower extremities again and flipped him over. She wasted no time and reached down between them, wrapping her hand around his thick penis and positioning it at her entrance.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, watching as he looked at her through hooded eyes. She paused for a moment before she began to move, lifting and lowering herself slowly at first, until she began to really feel the pressure beginning to build. He grabbed ahold of her waist, digging his heels into the mattress as he thrust up into her every time she came back down again.

Sliding his hands up the beautiful curve of her spine, he pressed over her shoulder blades, lowering her chest to him. He wrapped his arms over her and increased his thrusts. She turned her head into his neck and began sucking a hard mark over his pulse point. He could feel his knot growing with each passing moment and in a flurry of movement, his rolled her onto her back and continued with his bruising pace.

In the process, her lips came away from his neck and brushing her hair aside, he began his own merciless marking. Oh, she already bore his bond mark, a surefire sign to ensure no other Alpha dared take away his Molly, his mate. She had always been his, ever since he stepped foot in that morgue all those years ago. With a screech, her hands grappled at his back, her fingernails, usually kept short for work purposes, scratched along the length of his scar riddled back. His name fell from her lips in a prayer as her walls contracted around him. 

With a strangled moan, he came hard, his vision blacking out for a moment as he did so. He thrust forward and locked into her, his knot holding them in place for the time being. He collapsed over her, her name whispered against the curve of her neck…Molly….Molly…

Rolling onto his side carefully, he wrapped his arms around her tight and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Molly,” he murmured, gasping as another orgasm poured forth, her leg, slung over his hip, shaking through the shocks. 

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."


	35. A Different Kind of Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off a post on tumblr where Sherlock reveals something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me

It was going on three days now. While this didn’t overly surprise John Watson, as Sherlock had a tendency to forget about the basic functions of human survival when he was on a case, the fact remained that they simply did not have a case. There had been nothing in their inboxes, no texts or phone calls from Lestrade, no threats to national security presented by Mycroft so the mere fact that Sherlock had been lying on the couch for two days now, seemingly having not moved, was mindboggling and a bit worrisome. 

John had not been there for the full past forty-eight hours, having left for a shift at the surgery or returning home to his wife and infant daughter. Each time he stopped by Baker Street, however, Sherlock hadn’t moved from the couch. 

“Sherlock, have you eaten?” John asked, plopping himself down in his chair one day three. 

Sherlock just stared at the ceiling, his hands pressed together beneath his chin. It was only the rise and fall of the detective’s chest that gave away that he was even still alive.

“Sherlock, this is getting ridiculous. You’ve been sitting there for three days now and we certainly don’t have any cases so why are you acting like you do?”

“I do have a case…” Sherlock muttered, adjusting his position slightly before sighing and rolling on to his side, facing away from John.

“Oh really? What might that be?” John asked sarcastically, his arms crossing over his chest.

Sherlock mumbled something in reply, but John couldn’t hear it.

“What was that?”

“I said I might be in love with Molly Hooper.”

John just stared, his mouth open slightly as Sherlock swung himself around and upright, staggering slightly with the sudden head rush. He made for the door.

“Going to see Molly?” he asked nonchalantly, picking at the fabric of the chair.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed in reply.

“Might want a shower first?” 

John smirked as he heard Sherlock mutter, “dull,” before turning toward the loo. John left the flat shaking his head. As he closed the front door to 221, he drew out his phone. “Mary, you aren’t going to believe this…”


	36. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly visited Sherlock the most when he was in the hospital. Stopping by on coffee breaks and sitting him for hours after her shift. Most of the time, he'd pretend to be sleeping, not sure what to talk to her about. But, one evening, Molly brought Candy Land and they stayed up playing it all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> Based on a headcanon submitted to me by sherlollymouse

"Sherlock you can’t sort through the deck of cards to find the ones you want!"

"But you’re cheating Molly, it’s the only explanation!"

"It’s a matter of chance, you can’t cheat at Candy Land." Molly leaned back in her chair at Sherlock’s bedside watching the impatient detective reorganize the little white cards before slamming them back on the board.

"Best four out of seven?" Sherlock suggested, placing the blue gingerbread piece back at the beginning.


	37. All Who Took the Road With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a conversation in the sherlollychat regarding the end of Sherlock (when it eventually does happen), this is the product.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> The title comes from The Last Goodbye by Billy Boyd from The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies soundtrack. 
> 
> For thestarlitrose, thenewjefferson, o0katiekins0o who helped contribute to the idea.

—

_And though where the road then takes me, I cannot tell_  
We came all this way but now comes the day  
To bid you farewell 

_-Billy Boyd, The Last Goodbye_

Silence in the lab wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. For years they had been able to work in tandem, like a well-oiled machine that knew each part and which step came next. He would say it was because he was a graduate chemist and she a specialist registrar. She would say it was because they had worked together for so long they were comfortable with each other and knew each other’s needs. Whatever the reason, ten years after his short-lived exile, they were still able to work in complete harmony. She had slapped him for that one, for not telling her what was happening to him until he came bursting into the morgue, dragged her away from the television screen that she had been staring at for who knows how long and —

He had his days, where he would snap at her and throw slides against the wall when a case didn’t go right, but he had improved, slowly but surely over their years working together. Today was no different. A case brought him to the lab, as it did almost every day. She was scribbling down a note about a substance when the door to the lab swung open.

She smiled at the two young faces. The youngest, a boy of about eight, hurried over to the microscopes, a plastic bag clenched tight in his hands. Climbing up on a stool, he plopped the bag down and turned to the man. “I brought a soil sample, just like you asked!” he said excitedly, his feet swinging as he watched as the man turned his head to glance at him.

“Are you ready?” the oldest, a girl of ten, asked stubbornly, glaring toward the woman as she held up her violin case. “I’m going to be late.”

She packed away her notes, setting them in her office to return to later before gesturing for the girl to lead the way. He looked up from the microscope, watching as she left. Just before she stepped through the doorway, the voice of the girl urging her to continue onward, she looked back at him, a coy smile tugging at her lips. He smirked holding her gaze for a moment longer before the door swung shut behind her and he returned his attention to the boy beside him.


	38. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock aren't together but they share a moment, and Sherlock's fighting with himself, because of his "human error" thinking on the one side and his feelings for Molly on the other side and the Molly kisses him, and he know it's right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> For itwasmycroftbbc.

Sentiment had always been a chemical defect found on the losing side. Caring had always been a disadvantage. Love had always been the human error. At least, that was how Sherlock Holmes had always believed those things he repressed, the word he spat out as if it were poison on his tongue, those feelings, those emotions. 

But the years had changed him. Murdering Magnussen had changed him. John was, naturally, at home with Charlotte while Mary got some much needed sleep. So he texted Molly to join him at a crime scene. 

But the case had been a quick solve and now he was left with what to do next. Molly walked along side him, her hands twisted together in front of her. Her cheeks and nose were tinged pink from being out in the sun all day, although the sun had been in and out of the clouds. It was, dare he even think it, adorable. Such a word should not be in his vocabulary. 

He surveyed Molly out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know how long he been watching her, aware of her every movement and every conversation. Perhaps it had been when he first began working with her, or shortly after, but the fact remained that he remembered everything and no matter how much he tried to delete things about her, he simply couldn’t. Sentiment was messy, it left people weak. In those moments when he would kiss her cheek, lingering for a moment before drawing back, he let his sentiment show through. 

Molly looked at him and blushed as she noticed him staring. “Everything okay, Sherlock?” she asked stopping, and putting her hand on his arm to stop him before he walked past.

"Hmm?" he hummed, snapping out of his stare with a blink. His eyes dropped to her hand and he shifted, trying to push away the thoughts of how nice it felt to have her hand, warm and soft, falling on his arm. 

He looked back up at her. Perhaps it was how she had always been able to see through his veils, or how she was incredibly intelligent, or how she had always been there for him, but somehow, she had wormed her way into his heart and set up shop.

"I said, are you okay?" she repeated.

"Yeah, fine, fine. Do you…do you want to get lunch?" he asked, hesitating for a moment.

She stared up at him, her mouth parted before she quickly stepped closer, went up on tiptoe and kissed him quickly. “Yes,” she replied as she pulled back and stepped away. “Chips on the Marlyebone Road?” she asked with a grin before throwing up her hand for a taxi.

Sherlock stared after her for a moment, his lips tingling with the touch of hers on them. As she leaned out of the taxi and called his name, he started and smiled. Perhaps his previous deductions on sentiment were wrong, but only time would tell. Sherlock followed Molly into the taxi and closed the door behind him before taking her hand and staring out the window as the taxi pulled away.


	39. Little Spoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly discovered while Sherlock was sleeping that he reacts favorably to being the small spoon. He also enjoys her taking control and giving him a handjob from behind; his mind palace will never recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> For pulchratibi.

Sherlock didn’t have a problem being the big spoon now and again, especially after a particularly difficult case where he began to let his emotions get the better of him. Some nights, he just wanted to fold Molly in his arms and hold her. But other nights, like tonight, he liked being the small spoon. He woke to his hips moving lazily and of their own accord, a small but strong hand tucked into his pants and wrapped around his hardening penis, stroking steadily. He reached down and pushed his pants further down his legs, allowing Molly to have more space. His hips moved faster, his breathing ragged as he felt Molly huddle closer to him, her free hand carding through his hair, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. With a loud moan, he came hard, his hand clenching on the sheets as she continued to slide her hand over his shaft. 

His hips stopped jerking. He slowly rolled over, pressing close to Molly. He wrapped a hand behind her head and pulled her in for a kiss, smiling as she giggled against his lips. While being the big spoon had it’s benefits, being the small spoon was definitely better. Two weeks later, he would suddenly confront those memories when he crept to his mind palace for a case, snapping him out of it rather quickly in attempt to rearrange his coat to cover certain parts of his anatomy.


	40. Reprimand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Molly!" Sherlock bellowed from the bedroom. She ducked her head and grinned behind her pathology journal. "What the hell did you do to my sock drawer?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> Prompt by mizjoely

It had started off as a normal day. She woke late, having to work the night shift later and Sherlock was already gone, a note left on the counter informing her that he was off on a case. She spent the day, settled in his chair as she read a book. But by midday, she was bored and found herself back in the bedroom. 

Hands on her hips, she looked around before her eyes settled on Sherlock’s sock drawer. He had always told her not to touch it or bother with it after Mrs. Hudson brought up their laundry. Slowly, as if he would suddenly receive some sort of notification that she had opened the drawer, she began to riffle through them.

She had yet to figure out how he indexed his socks or why. Molly stared at the open drawer for a moment before she began pulling out the various socks and tossing them onto the bed. Once she threw the last pair, she turned and looked at the small pile. How could one man have so many socks? Why did he need so many socks? Sighing, Molly began to sort through them.

—

A few hours later, as she sat in his chair killing time before work and reading her pathology journal, Sherlock’s voice echoed from the bedroom. “Molly! What the hell did you do to my sock drawer?”

Molly slouched down further in the chair and drew the journal up to hide her face. Sherlock stomped into the sitting room and toward her. He yanked down her journal, a noise of protest emanating from her. She glared at him and tugged her journal free from his hands.

"What did you do to my sock drawer?" he growled slowly, hands braced on the arms of his chair as he loomed over her.

"You don’t like my changes?" she replied innocently, opening her eyes wider as she stared up at him. 

"Don’t play innocent, Molly, it doesn’t suit you," he rattled off, leaning closer to her.

Molly’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile. She sat up straighter, brushing her nose lightly against his. “And what does suit me, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock shifted his weight, his eyes dropping to her lips. He leaned forward, his mouth near her ear as he lowered his voice. “Don’t think this means you don’t get out of explaining my new sock drawer,” he murmured, his hand snaking around her wrist and feeling for her pulse. 

Molly smiled before closing the gap between them, her lips moulding against his. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she murmured back, allowing Sherlock to pull her up and walk her with a huge grin toward the bedroom.


	41. A Little Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hijacked a tumblr post in which someone posted, Imagine a drunk Sherlock demanding he give Molly a strip tease and lap dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Sherlock and Molly don't belong to me.

The pounding on her front door was what woke her out of a dead sleep. “Molly!” came the loud voice over the pounding of fists. Shuffling to the door as she rubbed her eyes, she opened the door and stared blearily up at the swaying figure of Sherlock Holmes. 

"Molly!" he exclaimed loudly, throwing his hands up as he saw her. He stumbled backward and she grabbed his wrist to keep him upright.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" she mumbled, running her free hand over her face.

"Was out with John, need to see you," he rambled, pushing past her and stumbling into her flat. Molly sighed wearily as she shut and relocked the door before following him. 

As she entered her sitting room she saw him beginning to take off his scarf and long coat before turning toward her. “Sit, Molly, sit!” he said eagerly. 

"Sherlock are you okay?" she asked as she did what he asked and sat on the edge of the sofa. 

"Oh yeah," he replied absentmindedly as he fumbled with the button on his suit jacket. 

She watched him warily. “It’s 3 in the morning, Sherlock.”

"Is it?" he added, flapping his arms to shrug out of his jacket before staring at her. 

Slowly he began to walk toward her, his fingers were less nimble than usual as he undid each button on his shirt. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes going wide as his skin began to emerge. 

"What does it look like, Molly? I’m going to give you a strip tease and lap dance, do keep up."

Molly’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. Had he completely lost his mind? She had smelt the alcohol on him when he pushed past her into her flat. 

"Did John put you up to this?" she asked quietly as he grew closer, his hips swaying back and forth slowly as he undid the last button on his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. 

She swallowed hard as she took in the hard planes of his chest and stomach. He really was quite fit. She had dreamed of this before but Sherlock didn’t do this sort of thing. “Of course not! I put me up to this,” he giggled as his hand went to his trousers. 

Molly’s eyes grew wide. She jumped up and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from the snap. “No, don’t.”

"Molly, I am going to give you a strip tease and lap dance and you can’t stop me," he demanded although the pout he had lessened his desired effect.

"Sherlock, as nice as that would be, you’re drunk and if you wake up completely naked tomorrow, you’ll be confused and regret whatever happens. I’ll tell you what, if you still want to give me a strip tease and lap dance in the morning, then you can and I won’t stop you. God knows I wouldn’t stop you. But for the love of God, sober up first," she explained, letting go of his hand and watching him. 

Sherlock stared at her, swaying on his feet slightly. “But I want to give it to you now,” he mumbled, reaching out and trying to get her to sit down. Molly took his hands and turned them around before pushing him down onto the sofa. 

Molly straddled him, settling herself onto his lap. His hands automatically rest on her hips. “I know you do. But please, for me, get some sleep first,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his. He tugged on her hips, grinding her against his erection. Molly gasped before she scrambled out of his grasp. 

"I can sleep first but in the morning, first thing…" he trailed off, his hands dropping to his lap. She grabbed a blanket off a nearby chair and threw it at him. 

"Good night, Sherlock," she called out as she hurried back to her room and closed the door behind her.

—

In the morning, Sherlock kept his promise and then some, if the gasps and moans were anything to go by.


	42. A Scan of My Unmade Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: A nervous Molly telling Sherlock she's pregnant but Sherlock already knows and was just waiting for Molly to tell him herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing belongs to me.
> 
> Title from "Small Bump" by Ed Sheeran

Molly had worked absently all day, her hands busy and working from muscle memory. But her mind was elsewhere. It had been two weeks since she had taken the test and run upstairs to get it confirmed only to sit on the floor of her office later, her arms wrapped around her legs as she tried to come to terms with the news. She was pregnant, around five weeks at the time of confirmation, and had no idea whether to be happy about it or not. 

They hadn’t dated long before they became engaged and then had quickly married thereafter. They had danced around each other for years and once he had solved the Moriarty case and been pardoned for his action in protecting Mary and John, everything had been placed on the table. In their haste, they had never discussed children. She had no idea if he even wanted or considered children. Once upon a time she wanted children but as the years wore on and man after man came into her life and left it, the less the idea of children seemed possible. She hadn’t a clue how to bring it up to Sherlock or to even tell him that, surprise, she was pregnant. For two weeks she had kept the news of her pregnancy a secret from him. 

She didn’t know how he would react. Sure, Sherlock was great with little Charlotte Watson, but it was one thing to give the infant back to her parents at the end of the day, but keeping them and caring for them their entire life was another thing. As the taxi stopped outside of Baker Street, she stared up at the sitting room windows, biting her lip. She had to tell him. She couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. Cautiously, she unlocked the door and hung up her coat. She climbed the stairs and paused outside the flat. Taking a deep breath, Molly pushed open the door and smiled when she saw Sherlock lying down on the sofa, his hands pressed together beneath his chin. 

She crept over to him and climbed up, half lying on top of him and her head on his chest. She reached up with one hand and carded her fingers through his curls. “Hello, Molly,” he rumbled, his hands creeping around her.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she replied, snuggling in closer. She chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to pluck up the courage to tell him. “Sher…Sherlock? Have you…mmm…have you ever, you know, c-c-considered kids?” she stammered, rushing through the end. 

Sherlock’s eyes opened. He tapped Molly’s back and she sat up, her hands clasping together, fingers tangling with her nerves. Sherlock sat up and looked curiously at his wife. “I’ve considered them. They’re particularly interesting. Their brains are un-muddled by the complexities of adulthood. They are naturally curious and interested in understanding…”

“No, no, not what I meant. I-I meant…”

“Molly, if this is your way of telling me you’re pregnant, stop. I already know. I knew almost as soon as you did. In fact, I suspected a few days before you took the test,” he explained, stopping her before she got too flustered.

She sat up straighter and looked right at him. “You knew. You knew and you didn’t say anything. Why?” she asked.

Sherlock smiled warmly, extending his hand and resting it on her now flat stomach, knowing in a few months he would likely be obsessively feeling her swollen abdomen more often as his child grew within her. “Because I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”

Molly smiled weakly, caressing his face. “And you’re okay with it?” she asked nervously. 

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her deeply. “I am perfectly okay with it. I wouldn’t have children with just anyone. Our children will be brilliant. Of course I’m nervous, I never thought I would have children. But Charlotte has given me practice with infants. Besides, with you, I know I can be a good father,” he replied as he drew back. He gently pushed Molly back until she was reclined against the arm of the sofa.

“Sherlock what…?” she began to say until he shifted to his knees. His hands pressed gently against her stomach, drawing up her shirt to reveal the smooth skin there. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her stomach before looking up with a smile. 

Molly dove for him, her lips crashing hard against his. She leaned back and grinned, her hands smoothing over his chest. “We’re going to be parents,” she whispered.  


Sherlock pulled her back toward him, brushing his lips against her cheek. “We’re going to be parents,” he exclaimed.


	43. The Slight Case of Aviophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by ordinarilygraceful: Sherlolly heading off on honeymoon, Sherlock trying not to be a grump because they have to take a commercial flight. He hasn’t told Molly that he has a mild fear of flying. Squirmy, jumpy Sherlock and a giggly Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

As Molly shoved her carry-on into the overhead compartment, she looked down at her husband staring out the window, his fingers tapping rapidly on his knee. She stepped in to take her seat and placed her hand over his, stilling his fingers. 

“You okay?” she asked quietly, ignoring the people walking past finding their seats. 

“Yeah, fine, why?” he replied rapidly, his eyes flickering between the window and Molly.

“You seem kind of uneasy.”

Sherlock shot her a look. “It’s because we’re on a commercial flight. I’m used to Mycroft pulling strings and getting a private flight.”

Molly glanced around. Sure, it was a commercial flight to Greece but being in First Class really did help make it better. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye watching as he rubbed his thighs, swaying forward and back in his seat. “Sherlock, are you nervous?” she asked, trying not to laugh.

“Nervous? Me? No, of course not,” he replied quickly.

“You replied too fast. Sherlock, it’s okay to have a fear of flying,” she giggled, as she buckled her seatbelt. 

The flight attendant began the safety demonstration leaving Sherlock gripping the armrests. “I don't have a fear of flying! I-I just don't like flying commercial,” he explained definitively.

Molly just hummed with a smile before returning to her book. The plane continued to taxi into position and Sherlock continued to shift uncomfortably in his seat, his knuckles turning white on the armrests. The plane took off, pushing Molly and Sherlock back in their seats. Molly watched Sherlock out of the corner of her eye; his eyes were squeezed shut, his left hand reaching for her right. She placed her hand in his, wincing slightly as he gripped it tight. She leaned over, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

“Just picture what you're going to do to me when we get to the house in Greece,” she whispered into his ear.

He gave her a half-hearted grin. The grinding and thumping of the landing gear going up rumbled through the compartment and Sherlock jumped, grabbing her hand again and squeezing it tight. “What was that?” he gasped. 

Slowly, the plane leveled out and Molly wiggled her hand out of his, patting it before she set her hand on his thigh. “Like I said, Sherlock, picture what you’re going to do to me in Greece,” she murmured, trailing her hand up his thigh. 

Sherlock shifted in his seat, shooting a glance at Molly. She withdrew her hand with a giggle, only to fully laugh when he grabbed her hand and replaced it on his thigh. “I’m sure I can think of a few things to do to you in Greece,” he grumbled, keeping his hand firmly over hers so she wouldn’t think of moving it again.

Folding her book over her knee, she looked at Sherlock and rolled her eyes. She could only imagine how he would be when they went to land in three and a half hours in Athens.


	44. We'll Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WWII AU Sherlock and Molly reunite after the war ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Weasleygirl928. 
> 
> As always nothing belongs to me. 
> 
> Title comes from the song of the same name by Vera Lynn. It was written in 1939 at the start of World War II.

She had been only nineteen when the war broke out. It had been five long years at Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital. Years that were spent on constant alert, spent taking cover every time the air raid sirens went off, jumping at the concussive booms of the explosions, only to emerge when the all-clear was given to start over again. The work she did at Barts gave her purpose, made her feel as if she were part of something bigger than her father’s home and the four walls of the small library there. 

Now, eight weeks after the war ended, Miss Molly Hooper stood on the platform at Kings Cross Station. Her gloved hands twisted together as she waited. The first shipment of men were returning home and women and children stood quietly in groups around the platform. Wives waiting for their husbands, older women waiting for their sons, children waiting for their fathers, the sight brought tears to her eyes. She had received a letter from him a few weeks back saying he would be returning today and not to tell his family. So naturally, his brother knew and was now standing away from her with his parents. 

They hadn't met in a traditional way. He had been sent back home for convalescence after suffering an injury on the front. The medical doctors had done the best they could but he would forever have horrible scarring on his leg from a piece of artillery shrapnel. She had taken to volunteering at the convalescent home outside of London, if only to clear her head of the bloodied and mangled and burned bodies she saw day after day. He hadn't been the easiest to talk to at first. He had a predilection to telling you your entire life story by the way you were dressed or by a small scar on your finger. He was cold and untrusting, closing his eyes and ignoring you for hours. But Molly Hooper had persisted and slowly, the young second lieutenant, only 24 at the time, had opened up. By the time he was released from the home, he informed her he would be returning to the front. She had begged and pleaded with him not to go, but he had simply taken her hand, placed a chaste kiss to her tear stained cheek and told her to wait for him.

Molly’s stomach churned as the train pulled into the station and began to slow. Families eagerly turned toward the carriages, their eyes wide as they peered through the steam. The doors opened and slowly men began to emerge. She wrung her gloved hands together, standing on tiptoe trying to catch sight of him over the heads of other reuniting families. She hoped his parents and brother didn’t rush forward and cut off her attempt to get to him first.

She worried her lip as she continued to look for him but she hadn’t seen him yet. Slowly, the crowd began to thin out and Molly felt that unmistakable pit of disappointment settling into her stomach. Surely his letter had said he would be returning today. She lowered her gaze as she turned toward his family, but they were gone. Molly's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a choked cry as she stared at the man in his brown uniform, his cap upon his head. But there was no mistaking those striking blue-green eyes beneath the brim, the very eyes that had haunted her for three years. She didn't even register she was moving until she as already running full tilt toward him. His bag dropped to the platform with a loud thump as he threw out his arms to catch her. 

Molly Hooper collided with Captain William Holmes, her arms thrown over his shoulders and clutching the back of his uniform. His arms wound around her waist, holding her tight, her feet off the ground. Slowly, he lowered her, her feet dropping to stand. But she didn't let go of him. 

“You came back. Oh Sherlock, you came home,” she repeated over and over. 

He laughed low in his chest, pulling her away so he could look down into her tear stained face. “Of course I did,” he replied, his hands cradling her face. He smiled at her, but she noticed how his smile didn't fully reach his eyes like it used to. There would be time for questions and explanations later, but for now, she was happy to just have him standing before her. He lowered his hands to hers, holding them tight. “Now I can ask you something. Miss Molly Hooper, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Molly stared up at him, her eyes wide. Slowly, a smile began to take shape but she quickly quelled it, maintaining a passive expression. “Captain Holmes, I would love to.”

Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief with a small smile. He deftly pulled her white lace glove from her skilled fingers, and slipped on a beautiful gold ring. He took her hand in both of his and kissed her knuckles. The war had destroyed many things and taken so many lives, but it also brought them together, and for that, Molly Hooper was grateful.


	45. On a Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a gifset by morbidmegz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.

[Gifset that inspired this drabble](http://morbidmegz.tumblr.com/post/53887897390/hows-the-hip-ready-for-round-two-you)

\--

Sherlock sat down on the stiff wooden chair at his desk gingerly. He clutched the sheet closer to his body as he groaned. There was something to say about having sex on the sofa, however, the sofa also didn’t provide enough space when he attempted to roll over and allow his partner to be on top, riding him until they were both screaming each other’s names and he could watch her (once poorly judged as too small) smooth breasts bounce. Nor was the corner of the table very forgiving, nor the floor. He heard the clatter of heels on the floor and he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

"How’s the hip?" Molly Hooper inquired. He felt a stirring in his groin as his eyes scanned up from her feet to her curvy body, to her carefully styled hair. Of course she would choose that dress, the very dress she wore when he picked her apart. Perhaps it was then when he figured out that, well shit, he felt something for the pathologist.

A smirk tugged on his lips and he scanned before catching her eyes. “Ready for round two, you goddess,” he drawled before pushing himself into standing and prowled after her, her giggles leading him to the bedroom where there would be plenty of space for them to roll around.


	46. The Beauty of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by thenewjefferson: teenlock, Molly and Sherlock have snuck out. As they are driving down a country road, the car breaks down. Instead of going to find help, they go and lay in the field they broke down by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.

Molly let go of the lattice as she jumped down to the ground below, a triumphant smile on her face as she looked back up at the dark windows before she pulled her sweatshirt around her. She hurried down the lane, coming up to the car. She quickly opened the door and climbed inside, slamming the door shut behind her. She giggled as she felt his hand wrap around the back of her head and draw her close to him, pressing his lips firmly against hers. The car was already running and he quickly pulled away, Molly grinning excitedly as she stared out the window. 

He had been in her biology class last term. He wasn’t the quietest student in the world, what with having a tendency to accuse everyone from his lab partner to the tutor to being a complete idiot. Truth be told, she had been dreading becoming his lab partner and she had lucked out in Biology. However, the following term, she became his partner in chemistry. It was then she saw him, behind the insanely accurate remarks and insults. Slowly, he had come around and begun to trust her. 

Now, four months later, here they were. “Where are we going?” she asked, linking her hand with his over the gear shift.

“Somewhere special,” he remarked. Even in the dark she could see the smirk on his lips as he raised her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles. “I have a case and I want your help with it. It’s nothing huge of course,” he replied, holding tight to her hand as he allowed the car to roll. They turned off the main road and down an old country lane.

“Are you sure the case is out here?” Molly asked him skeptically, squinting as she tried to see out the window.

“Of course. When have I ever led you astray?” Sherlock grinned before looking over at her. “Don’t answer that,” he added.

Molly laughed causing Sherlock to smile. He loved her laugh so much. It had pierced through the barrier he had spent years building up and turned it to dust. Her smile, her drive, her intelligence, there was so much he appreciated about her that his brother could bugger off about telling him it would never work. 

The car made a crunching sound causing Molly to jump. “What was that?” she said quickly.

“I think we hit a rock or a hole,” he replied, releasing her hand to grip the steering wheel tight. The wheel rattled in Sherlock’s hands, a dull thumping from the rear causing the car to jerk on the road slightly. He carefully guided the car to the side of the road and turned it off. “Wait here,” he said, unbuckling and climbing out. 

She watched him in the mirrors as he walked around the car and bent down at the right rear tire. “Bugger,” Molly muttered, unbuckling and climbing out herself.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” he said, looking up as she came around and joined him. 

“Obviously I didn’t. Do you have a spare?” she asked, pulling her sweatshirt closer around her.

Sherlock shook his head as he got up and brushed off his knees. “We’ll have to go get help.”

“Are you joking? We can’t. Our parents would murder us for sneaking out in the middle of the night,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up before she looked into the back seat. She opened the door and grabbed a wool blanket. “Come on,” she said, slamming the door and grabbing his hand with her free one.

“What are you doing?”

Molly didn’t answer him, instead dragging him into the open field. Once they were far enough off the road, she released his hand and threw the blanket down, unfolding it before she climbed onto it and lay down.

“Molly, what are you doing?”

“Sherlock Holmes, you lie down right now and shut it,” she snapped. 

Sherlock stared at her before he joined her, lying down on her back with his hands flat on the blanket beside him. Molly rolled over and curled up next to him, placing her head on his chest over his heart.

“This is better than solving crimes anyway,” she murmured, her fingers playing with buttons on his shirt. 

Sherlock tilted his head until it was resting on her head, his hand wresting on hers. His fingers pressed against her wrist. Her pulse was quick under his fingers; he could feel her breath on the small amount of skin revealed at the neck of his shirt. His arm around her tightened, his hand slipping under the hem of her shirt and across the soft expanse of her stomach. Molly tilted her head back and looked up at him with a small smile. She brushed her lips along the curve of his jaw. 

He had such amazing features it was no wonder girls and boys alike were falling over themselves to be close to him, until he opened his mouth. She returned her gaze to the sky and sighed. “Have you ever considered the stars?” she asked quietly, her stomach muscles clenching as his fingers traced around her stomach. 

Sherlock laughed quietly as he felt her muscles flutter under his touch. “Of course not. It’s not tangible; it’s abstract. I prefer my science to be definite. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Being so far out of the city, away from the lights, helps to see the true beauty of nature. All the beauty of nature,” he said, tilting her face up to his. He pressed his lips against hers, slowly increasing pressure, his tongue tracing over the edge of her lips, begging entrance. 

He didn’t know how Molly Hooper, someone so unassuming and quiet, had wormed her way into his heart and warmed him up to being with people. There were many things beautiful in nature and nothing was more beautiful than her.

He groaned against her lips when her phone began to ring. “Ignore it,” he murmured, rolling her onto her back, beginning to pepper kisses along her neck. 

“I can’t, it’s my parents,” she groaned, pushing him aside enough to pull her phone out of her pocket. “Hello?” she asked, her nose wrinkling up adorably. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose.

Sherlock chuckled as he heard the shouting voice of her father coming from the speaker. “Molly Ann Hooper, you better not have snuck out with that Holmes boy again! So help me, I will come and find you! You better return home right now!”

“Yes, daddy. I’ll be home soon,” she replied bored, rolling her eyes. “No, nothing has changed. I love you too,” she muttered, drawing the phone from her ear and ending the call. 

“You heard him. I have to go home,” she replied, pushing him off.

But Sherlock made it difficult for her to get up, flopping down on top of her and pinning her hands above her head. “Sherlock, get off, I have to go home or I’ll be grounded.”

“Just do what I do.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“Don’t go home and be grounded,” he replied, lowering his head and capturing her lips again.

She groaned against his lips and tugged her hands free, only to tangling them in his hair and drew him closer.

\--

Warmth. That was the first thing Molly registered when she woke up confused. She wasn’t in her bed, in fact, she wasn’t even inside. She looked down and smiled softly, her fingers carding through dark unruly hair as she observed Sherlock fast asleep, his head resting on her chest, her sweatshirt bunched up under his cheek. She felt his fingers twitch slightly against her stomach and giggled. Slowly, she ran a socked foot along his leg, causing him to twitch a bit before he blearily opened his eyes. 

“Good morning,” he grumbled, hugging her closer to him.

Molly laughed, kissing the top of his head. “Morning. You know, we were out all night. We should probably find help to change that flat tire so I can face my father,” she said. 

Sherlock groaned, burying his face into her chest. “Tedious.”

She smiled and kissed his forehead before sitting up, his head falling into her lap as she tugged her sweatshirt now.

“This is much better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh. “Ow!” 

“Get up, you git,” she laughed, dropping her hand from where she lightly smacked the back of his head. 

Sherlock rolled onto his back and watched as she tugged her shorts back up and pulled her shoes on. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Molly blushed as she looked over her shoulder at his mussed up hair, and love bites on his neck before standing up and holding out a hand to help him up.


	47. Reel Me In My Precious Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has read up on all of Molly's fandoms so he can buy them both couple's cosplay costumes for Halloween and maybe less public occasions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> For allaboardtheships
> 
> title from "Love Don't Roam" from Doctor Who series 3

He didn’t understand the point behind the brown pinstripe suit, the tie, or the white converse trainers, but it was something he had once someone watching on one of Molly’s television shows. She, on the other hand, wore a blue dress with a headband and a light fixed to it. Frankly, she looked absurdly adorable although he would never admit it aloud. 

"Sherlock, you’re missing the spectacles," Molly giggled as she leaned against the door. 

Sherlock sighed as he padded back to the kitchen where he had set them down, or so he thought.

"Molly, I don’t see them," he called out.

"Are you sure?" she asked, turning to face him. 

He turned back around and squinted at her, approaching her slowly. Something was different about her. Perched on her nose and tucked behind her ears were his spectacles. Sherlock chuckled as he strode toward her. She really was quite adorable. Silently, he reached forward and removed the specs from her face. He put them on with a flourish like he had seen that person of the television show do before lowering his hands to her waist. 

"Allons-y," he said before he shut the door behind him.


	48. Pick Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock likes to use science pick-up lines on Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me.
> 
> For weasleygirl928

"You are my covalent bond, Molly."

Molly just looked up at him with a bit of humor on her face. “Okay, Sherlock,” she replied shaking her head. Surely he was just talking aloud again.

"Molly, you know chemists do it on the table periodically."

She rolled her eyes as she bent over the

"Did you know you’re so cute when your zygomatic muscles contract."

Molly couldn’t help it but her lips twitched.

"Molly…." she ignored him

"Molly…" she continued to ignore him.

"Molly Hooper, are you a carbon sample?"

Molly relented and looked over at him sharply.

"What?"

Slowly he stepped closer to her and wrapped his hand around her wrist, fingers pressed against her pulse point. “Are you a carbon sample? Because I want to date you.”

Molly grinned, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket before pulling him down to kiss him. They drew apart, Molly smoothing her hands over his suit jacket. “Then I guess I am. But seriously Sherlock? Science-y pick up lines?”

Sherlock laughed softly. “Seemed like a good idea,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss her again.


	49. All It Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wears jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always nothing belongs to me. 
> 
> For therealbucky05 who commented in a post that they wanted a fic to go with a post.

Molly did a double take as the doors of the lab swung shut behind Sherlock. It wasn’t that him standing there had caused the double take, although that was part of it. It was more what he was wearing that had caused her to look twice and stare.

He swung off his long coat and tossed it onto an empty table, swiftly buttoning his suit jacket with deft fingers as he turned away and bent down to get items down from a shelf. She licked her lips as she tilted her head to get a better view. Sure, there was something about the way those suits he wore were cut perfectly to him, but it was what he was wearing today that had her stumped.

Never before had she seen him in jeans. These weren’t just overly washed and faded jeans, these were a glorious dark wash, in fact they looked practically new. Jeans were something she was incredibly comfortable in on her days off, but on Sherlock they looked painted on. They hugged his lean legs, showing off how muscular he actually was. Not to mention, his arse looked bloody fantastic as well.

"MOLLY!" came his booming voice, jolting her out of her staring. A bright red flush flooded her cheeks.

"Y-yes?" she stammered, quickly burying her fingers in her pockets.

"I’ve been asking you if you wanted to assist me for minutes now. So if you’re quite done staring at my arse, I would quite like your assistance."

Molly blushed a deep red before quickly coming to his side as he explained quickly what he was doing. Of course, Molly heard none of it as her eyes continued to watch him and those jeans as he shifted back and forth. The material stretched tight over his thighs as he sat down.

She gasped as she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She looked over and saw Sherlock looking at her strange, his eyes wide yet surprisingly calm. “Come here,” he murmured, tugging her toward him.

She complied, standing between his legs. She braced her hands on his legs, fingers flexing over the taut fabric of his jeans. “You never wear jeans,” she murmured, eyes flickering between the dark fabric and his lips.

"You’re never so attentive, or lacking attention," he replied, his brow furrowed as he watched her. His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly.

"What can I say? You’re incredibly distracting in those jeans."

Sherlock breathed in deeply, his hands running up her back to her shoulder blades before pressing down and bending her toward him. Molly lifted each leg and straddled him, her hips pressing into his, making him groan slightly. He sat up slightly, pausing inches from her. His nose brushed against hers, he could feel her breath, quick and shallow, ghosting across his face. With a deep breath, he closed the space between them and kissed her. 

She rocked her hips up to his causing him to groan again, his hands scrambling to her hips and pulling her toward him. She rest her hands on his shoulders as he continued to pull her hips up, grinding her against the stiff fabric of his jeans and his bulging erection. His lips danced against hers, his tongue tangling once he begged entrance. 

It wasn’t going to take much for him to climax at the rate he kept her hips moving. The small whimpers and moans from the back of her throat were driving him ever closer. She rocked her hips harder against his erection, grinding her core and seeking nothing but friction. Sherlock released her hips and undid her trousers, snaking a hand into her knickers. Her breath hitched as his fingers parted her folds and sought after her clit. His fingers moved over her sensitive nub, drawing forth further moans. 

She moved her hips against his fingers. She wrapped her left arm around the back of his neck, holding herself in place and using it as leverage as her right hand slipped between them, flattening her palm over his bulge. Sherlock groaned as he came, her touch undoing him. “Faster,” she breathed as he grunted his climax. His fingers moved quickly against her, building and building until she finally collapsed with her own release.

Molly sagged against him, her head resting on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. She had always wondered if this man could work her to arousal and climax without even entering her and clearly she was right. Sherlock’s arms wrapped around Molly’s waist, clutching her to him, his hands gripping her lab coat. 

"You owe me new jeans, Doctor Hooper," he growled against her neck, pressing his lips to her pulse point. She began to laugh, leaning back to look at him before leaning forward to press her lips to his. 

"Deal."


	50. In Sickness and In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes care of Molly when she's sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> For thenewjefferson

Molly tugged the blankets closer around her. Although she felt she was burning up, she was freezing cold. Her nose burned with the rawness from tissues, her throat was sore from all the post-nasal drip and coughing. She had never slept so much before in her life and yet when she was awake, she couldn’t bring herself to leave bed.

The door opened quietly, the scent of soup wafted into the room. She couldn’t smell much but she could smell that. She rolled over, groaning as she did so and opened her eyes slightly. Her lips tugged into a smile as she saw her husband bearing a tray with the steaming bowl of soup, a cup of tea, and some cream crackers. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, closing the door behind him once he shifted the tray. 

"Lousy," she replied, her voice raspy.

He smiled sympathetically as he moved toward the bed and sat down beside her. “I brought you some stuff to try and eat. John recommended it. I-I don’t generally know what to do when people are sick.”

Molly gingerly pushed herself into a sitting position, leaning back against the pillows. “Soup is perfect, love,” she replied.

Sherlock smiled and visibly relaxed as he stepped closer and set the tray on her lap. He watched as she began to eat before he crept onto the bed beside her. “You don’t want to be next to me. I don’t want to get you sick,” she said, eying him as he lay down beside her.

"I’m fine. I just want to be sure you’re alright. Is the soup okay?" he asked.

She nodded as she took another spoonful and winced as it went down her throat. 

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, pushing himself up on his arm, eyes squinting as he watched her.

"Sherlock, I’m fine. My throat just hurts from all the coughing. Honest."

He settled back down, watching her until she had eaten every last cracker and drop of soup, and had drunk her tea. He took the tray and rolled over, setting it down on the floor. He rolled back over as Molly settled down and wrapped his arms around her.

She curled against him, her head resting on his chest. He smoothed her hair, carding the tresses through his fingers. She sighed as she tightened her arm across his stomach. “Still think you’re gonna end up sick,” she muttered, drawing her arm up to cover her mouth as another coughing fit took over. Sherlock continued to run his fingers through her hair until her cough subsided.

"Well, then you’ll just have to take care of me if I do," he laughed, bending down slightly to press a kiss to the top of her head.

—

A week later, although Molly’s cough persisted, she was the one preparing soup. She rolled her eyes as her name came groaning and whining through the flat, accompanied by a sudden coughing fit. Although they didn’t yet have children, he was perhaps worse than a kid when he was sick.

She brought soup to the sitting room, setting it down on his lap as he sat in his chair. “Why did you let me close to you when you were sick?” he whined. Molly leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “In sickness and in health, Sherlock,” she replied, ruffling his hair before she plopped down in her own chair to watch him grudgingly eat.


	51. Childhood Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly brings Sherlock to meet her mother and Sherlock's best behaviour comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me.
> 
> This fic is the result of another hijacked tumblr post.

There was something forbidden about having sex in your childhood bed. Perhaps it was because you knew the walls were thin, you knew where all the weak spots in the floorboards were, and you knew your parents bedroom was right down the hall, perfectly capable of hearing everything.

However, when Molly’s mother had insisted upon meeting her daughter’s new fiancé, Molly just couldn’t say no. Sherlock had been on his best behaviour all day, but that night when they retired to Molly’s former bedroom, Sherlock’s other best behaviour appeared. 

By the dim lighting of her small bedside lamp, the bed squeaked and groaned as it lightly hit the wall, only muffled by the fabric she had draped behind it. Her hands gripped at his arse, pulling him forward with each of his thrusts. She groaned as he finally hit the spot, and his lips sucked and tugged at her neck. “Oh god, Sherlock,” she moaned, as her fingers dug into his arse.

With a couple more deep thrusts, Sherlock came, moaning into her ear. Her walls tightened around him as she followed suit, biting her lip to keep from making too much noise.

—

In the morning, her mother gave her a small smile as they sipped tea while waiting for Sherlock to come downstairs. Of course she knew. Her mother always knew. “Have a good night?” her mother asked over the edge of her cup. Molly jumped as Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “The best, Mrs. Hooper,” he replied before sitting down. Molly groaned and buried her face in her hands.


	52. If Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only she had said yes to his invitation for chips off the Marylebone Road. It was just chips, wasn’t it? There was nothing wrong about two friends going for chips together after a long day of crime solving. So why had it felt so wrong for him to even ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, nothing belongs to me nor is this for profit or is any copyright infringement intentional.
> 
> Fic inspired by a tumblr post.

If only she had not brought up her engagement to Tom, an engagement that was going nowhere. It had been going somewhere, once upon a time, long before Sherlock had returned to the land of the living. 

If only she had said yes to his invitation for chips off the Marylebone Road. It was just chips, wasn’t it? There was nothing wrong about two friends going for chips together after a long day of crime solving. So why had it felt so wrong for him to even ask? 

Molly sat in the window of her flat, turning her engagement ring around and around her finger as she watched the snow fall in the muted orange light below. There were many moments in a person’s life where they wondered if they were making the right decision. When Sherlock had asked her to join him earlier that day, there had been no hesitation on her part that she had done the right thing. He obviously needed her for something and she had once told him he could have her. Then there was her instant assumption he was asking her to dinner. 

She lifted her chin off her knees as she started suddenly. That was it wasn’t it? She slipped off the windowsill and quickly grabbed her coat and scarf, drawing them on as she rushed out of her flat and onto the street below. She threw her hand up in the air as a cab approached and she jumped in the moment it stopped.

“Baker Street,” she instructed, settling back and watching the city pass by her window. Her knee bounced anxiously, her fingers wrapped around the door handle so she could jump out as soon as possible. 

“Here is fine,” she said quickly, pulling out some money to shove at the driver before all but throwing herself out of the car. She stared up at the white façade of his building and sighed. What was she even doing here? She wrung her hands together as she paced, feeling the diamond cutting into her palm. Without even thinking about it, she pulled off the ring and shoved into into her trousers pocket. 

She rang the bell. Despite the late hour, she hoped Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t answer. A light flicked on from above and seconds later, the door opened.

“Molly? What is it? What’s going on?” Sherlock asked, opening the door wider.

“Is it too late to take you up on that offer for chips?”


End file.
